


The Gift of Premonition

by Mawgon



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Consensual Sex, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Patriarchal Dwarves, Slavery, grievous bodily harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 41,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4758047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mawgon/pseuds/Mawgon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gimli was a youth at the cusp of adulthood, his mother vanished under mysterious circumstances. His father was unfazed, and put double the pressure on Gimli to become the fierce warrior he himself could not be. The young dwarf's only solace was a secret relationship with the dwarf his father hired to teach him fighting.<br/>His father found out about it, and now Gimli is about to be executed.</p><p>The only thing that can save his life now is being bought as a slave - and that is a fate worse than death in the average case. It is worse when it is an elf who buys him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is quite a bit darker than what I usually write. I try to skip the nasty details as much as possible, but those dwarves are not nice. And as can be seen in the summary, there is a reason why I aged Gimli up a bit (at least I think I did, for the purpose of this story he is a young adult, which I am not sure he is according to the original, as he may have been considered too young for the journey) I decided for "Teen and Up audience", as there's nothing too graphic. Use your own judgement.  
> It takes place in the same Alternate Universe as "The Monstrous Company of Thorin Oakenshield", but can be read independently.

Gimli had always loved his mother more. Oh, he did yearn for the approval of his father, yes, but his mother had loved him without any striving on his side, and for that, he loved her the more.  
Upon return from the hunting trip he had been on with his father, he was happy to return home and see his mother again. Only – she was not there. The house was empty.  
Some amount of money and some of his father’s weapons had been stolen, but that meant nothing to Gimli. 

 

One year after the crime series in which not only Gimli’s mother but also a number of noblewomen had been abducted, Gimli fared a little bit better than immediately after his loss. His father, in his neverending quest to make a proper dwarf out of Gimli, had hired an axemaster to teach him. At first, Gimli had not been very excited about that – he wanted to create things, not destroy them. Following in the footsteps of his father as a goldsmith would have suited him just fine. He had no desire to become a warrior. 

Then, however, he learnt that his new teacher shared his love of beautiful things. Every time Gimli’s father was away on business, Johin canceled the fighting lessons, and instead admired Gimli’s sketches for jewelry. With time, Gimli felt able to talk about his mother with Johin. One day, he even showed him her image – one he had hidden away, as his father had thrown most of them away. 

“She was a beautiful woman”, Johin said. “You inherited her beauty.”

That was a turning point in their relationship. Gimli could have taken offense to being called beautiful. His father would have expected that. But he did not. 

Johin kissed him on the mouth that day. More intimate caresses followed, and Gimli felt loved, something he had never felt after his mother’s disappearance. 

He, in turn, loved Johin, and when the older dwarf wanted to make love to him, Gimli readily consented. It hurt the first time, but he would have done everything for Johin, who reassured him it would be better the next time. 

It was only the third time, when, suddenly, the door to his bedroom was thrown open. 

Never would Gimli forget the look on his father’s face.


	2. Chapter 2

Not that he will have the opportunity to, he thinks grimly, as he stands in the pit where he is going to be stoned to death.   
He sends a smile over to Johin, who is in a pit of the same making. The masses gathered around them are excited; an execution is free entertainment.  
Gimli never witnessed one, his mother kept him at home when the last one happened, and he is glad for it. He doesn’t want to know exactly how painful it will be. 

“Any bids?” the executioner asks. 

“Yes.” A nobledwarf steps forward. “Fifty gold coins for Johin, son of Mohin.”

Sold to slavery – as if that was any better than death! To Gimli’s surprise, Johin smiles at the stranger. They know each other. It becomes even more obvious when Johin is freed from the pit, and greets the dwarf. 

Maybe the stranger will buy Gimli, too, and give him his freedom? But no. He makes no bid, and Gimli can understand why. His father would outbid anyone in order to make sure Gimli is executed. And use his influence to make sure the bidder loses all business connections. 

“Fifty gold coins for Gimli, son of Gamli”, a melodious voice says, quietly, yet somehow loud enough to be heard. 

Gimli turns his head to see the stranger who placed a bid for him. The stranger stands tall in the group of dwarves. An elf.   
They always use the Common Tongue in public here in the Blue Mountains, to keep their own language a secret. Gimli now hates this fact. An elf!

“Hundred”, his father replies, and Gimli doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. He doesn’t much look forward to being stoned, but then, who knows what an elf would do to him? 

“Two hundred gold coins”, says the elf’s silvery voice. 

Two hundred are a lot of money. Money that Gimli’s father doesn’t have, not in coins. 

He searches for Johin’s gaze, to see him one more time, but Johin has turned away, is still smiling at his friend. Doesn’t he see what is happening?

_“You are my One. One and only”, Johin whispers into his ear. “My princess.”  
Gimli does not care much for the nickname of princess, but he does love to hear that he is Johin’s One. He likes to believe that he is fated to love Johin, and Johin him. Forever and ever and ever. _

“Two hundred and fifty.” So he is ready to sell property for this. Gimli winces. Much as he would like to believe that his father wishes to spare him the fate of becoming enslaved to an elf, he knows that his father will torture him to death. There are laws on what you can do to free dwarves. There are no such laws for slaves. His father will punish him for costing so much money. 

“Four hundred gold coins.”

Gimli didn’t even know elves could own so much gold. And still, Johin does not look at him. 

“Four hundred and ten.” His father grows more reluctant. 

“Five hundred gold coins.”

Silence. The elf smiles smugly. 

“Sold!”

 

His face burns with shame. He hears the elf talk to the executioner. The elf has no branding iron of his own – of course – so one will have to be made. 

“Is this really necessary?”, the elf inquires. 

“It is included in the sum you paid for him.”

“I paid five hundred gold coins, and I would rather not have him branded. Certainly that option is also included?”

“It’s the law”, the executioner explains patiently. “If he escapes, it has to be possible to identify him as your property.”

“He will be the only dwarf in the Woodland Realm. I really do not see any need -”

“Listen, I don’t make the rules. He’s going to be branded, and that’s it. What is your sign?”

They walk to the smithy, and the elf sketches something on a piece of paper. “If it cannot be avoided, use this.” 

It is a simple sign, one that can easily be formed from a branding iron they already have. Gimli watches in silent terror as they heat it in the forge. Someone unties his hands, and forces his right hand flat on a table.   
When the hot metal touches his skin, he can feel nothing but pain. Searing pain, as he has never experienced before. He tries to distract himself by looking to the elf. The creature’s face wears a pained expression. Probably due to the smell of burnt flesh. Those buggers have sensitive noses, or so goes the rumour.   
He feels a hand on his shoulder. The damn elf! Can’t he rest his hand someplace else?  
But he doesn’t dwell on the thought, as he notices Johin close by, his hand, too, now branded. When Johin notices his look, he turns away. 

“Now that I agreed to this wholly unnecessary procedure, would you kindly tell me where I can retrieve his clothes?”

“Those are his clothes. What he had before was burnt when he was sentenced to death. We do things properly around here, elf.”

Gimli is only wearing a burlap sack, and likely will for the remainder of his life. 

The elf does not dignify the explanation with a response. His hand on Gimli’s shoulder pushes him away from the smithy.


	3. Chapter 3

When they arrive at the outside of a tavern, the elf pays the dwarf who guards the ponies and other animals, and takes away a milk-white steed. Out of the saddlebag he pulls a clay jar. “Show me your hand.” His voice is deceivingly gentle. 

Gimli obeys, and sees the branding for the first time. It is vaguely leaf-shaped, very fitting for an elf. His face burns with shame. Why did it have to be an elf?

The elf’s hand is cool, soothing to the searing pain. He applies the content of the jar, some kind of ointment, to the outlines of the burn, though not the branding itself. 

_Gimli has been hit. Immediately, Johin is at his side. “Show me. Oh, poor princess.” He lifts Gimli up in his arms, carries him to the nearest couch, pulls down his trousers and kisses the knee on which a bruise is already forming. “What an ungainly mark! You need to be more careful with your defense or you will not be pretty for me anymore.” They both laugh, though Gimli’s laughter is a bit forced._

“I have nothing more suitable with me”, the elf explains, startling Gimli from the reminiscence. Gimli wonders what the ointment will cause. Maybe colour the scar green? In the meantime, it feels cold, and relieves the pain a bit.   
Next, the elf kneels down and unties the rope with which Gimli is hobbled. Gimli knows all too well that running away would be pointless. The mark on his hand will make sure of that.   
Johin will probably take to wearing gloves ... Johin. He cannot blame his lover, as it was Gimli’s father who turned them over to the authorities. ‘Ones’ are the stuff of legends, not real life. Still. It would be nice of Johin at least showed some pity. 

He trots next to the elf, who is not riding, but leading the horse, the reins loosely in his hand. 

Gimli had thought being caught by his father would remain the most humiliating experience in his life. Now he knows better: Walking through town as an elf’s slave is worse. They talk behind his back, but in common tongue, as they know the elf can hear them. Gimli can hear them. Every word hurts like a tiny branding iron. 

Soon, they arrive at the town gates. The elf nods at the guards. “Someone has been following us”, he says. “Please make sure you keep the next people who want to pass waiting.” Some gold changes hands, this being the only language in which elves and dwarves can communicate peacefully. 

Probably, Gimli muses, the one following them is father’s hired murderer. That is nice. Maybe he will kill Gimli painlessly. Maybe he will also kill the elf, though Gimli is not sure about that. It would be dangerous to kill an elf of high ranking, and this one must be a noble, judging from his horse and good clothes. 

They are not far away from the town gates when the elf hands Gimli his waterskin. Gimli holds it, uncertain what to do with it. Does the elf want him to carry it?  
“You must be thirsty.”  
He is, and he takes the comment as an invitation to drink. He does not usually drink water, ever since he’s been an adult he has gotten used to beer. Even so, the water is delicious. 

The elf takes the waterskin and drinks, then puts it back on the horse’s back. Next, he takes out a piece of dried meat and hands it to Gimli, who decides to eat it, no questions asked. 

After maybe an hour, his feet begin to ache. He is not used to walking barefoot, and even stepping on pinecones causes him pain. If only he had his shoes ... one pair was stolen when his mother was abducted. Strange, thinking about it, that someone would steal shoes. They were good shoes, but mother's ankle bracelets, two sets made of solid gold, were still there, with only the one missing that she was wearing at the time.   
Funny, what thoughts hurting feet can trigger. 

Some more hours, some more drinks, and finally, the sun sets. Under some pines, the elf takes the saddle off his horse, then the bridle, whispers something in its ear, and starts to make a campfire while the horse walks off to graze. If he remembers Gimli is still there, he gives no sign of this. 

Maybe, just maybe, Gimli could escape. Hide in some human village. Maybe find a lead on who abducted his mother. They likely killed her already, but then, maybe not.

_“Accept that she is dead” Johin says gently. “Even in the unlikely case that she is still alive, her honour is lost for sure. She would be better off dead.”_

One of the few things Johin and he disagreed over. Gimli would not say it, not too loud, but he is selfish in this. He loved his mother before he even knew what ‘honour’ is, and would love her still, if she were to lose it. If she chose death, then, maybe, he would accept that, but if she has any will to live left in her by the time he finds her ... 

The elf crushes his hopes of having been forgotten by handing him another piece of dried meat. Gimli is not hungry, but he eats the meat nevertheless. If he wants to escape, he will need his strength. 

Somewhen, Gimli must have fallen asleep. When he wakes, it is night. A starry sky above him ... just like the last night of that cursed hunting trip. He was looking forward to seeing his mother again. 

And he will find her. His father told him it was too dangerous, to rely on the guards to find out, but Gimli knows the guards don’t care about his mother. Father is planning to remarry soon. 

Running away from the elf would be too dangerous. The elf might catch him again, and punish him. No, he has to kill the elf. 

Gimli sneaks up to him, planning to use one of the elf’s knives for that purpose. But the elf is awake, his blue eyes wide open. He is not looking at Gimli, apparently deep in thought, as he has been the whole day. 

Disheartened, Gimli returns to his side of the campfire. This time, falling asleep takes longer. The pain on his hand seems to have worsened, and the night is cold, even so close to the glowing embers of the fire. Cold night air touches his skin where his beard and hair used to be,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the flashbacks work for you - I don't like writing "Flashback" over it, but it should be easy to see which is past and which is present.


	4. Chapter 4

When Gimli opens his eyes the next morning, he sees an elf. The fair features of the creature are tainted by an expression of deep sorrow.  
Moments after that, he remembers where he is, and what happened. By then, the neutral, pensieve expression on the elf’s face has returned. Maybe he just imagined it being otherwise. 

The elf takes Gimli’s hand and again applies the strange stuff he used yesterday. It makes the burn feel better, and Gimli begins to suspect it is a healing ointment. Maybe the elf doesn’t want his property damaged. Five hundred gold coins are a lot of money, even for someone as obviously rich. 

“Can you ride?”

The question takes Gimli by surprise. “No.”

“Yet I cannot let you walk another day.” With this, the elf starts to saddle his horse, which, strangely enough, is still there. 

Gimli has no intention to ask the elf anything. He still has his pride. So he starts covering the embers of the campfire with earth, as his father taught him to do ... back then, when they were still a family. 

“No!”

Gimli gives a start. “What?”

“Keep your hand away from dirt”, the elf says in a calmer voice. “You have a wound there.”

Well, if the elf wants to do all the work himself, Gimli won’t stop him. It does feel strange, though, to just stand there and watch the elf dirty his own, slender hands. 

When he is done, the elf gestures towards his now saddled horse, and gives some command in his native tongue. And to Gimli’s astonishment, the horse lies down. 

“Come.” The elf swings one leg over the horse, and waits. Gimli tries to do the same, but the burlap sack he is wearing is in the way. 

“You will have to ride side-saddle.”

He ends up clinging to the horse’s mane, as the only other option would be clinging to the elf. When the horse stands up, he almost falls off. 

Initially, it is very uncomfortable, and Gimli is not sure whether maybe it would be better to walk. It is just idle fantasy, of course, the elf seems to have decided he won’t be allowed to walk. Maybe because of the state of his feet ... but he really doubts the elf cares about that much. 

When he gives in and leans to the elf, it gets better. He loathes to be so close to an elf, but it is a more comfortable position in every other way. The elf puts one arm around his waist, so he doesn’t have to worry as much about falling off. 

It is almost sunset when they arrive at some sort of human settlement. The elf finds an inn that is to his liking, pays for stable and room, and leads Gimli inside. 

There is no hiding from the curious glances people shoot him. No wonder – they see a dwarf with no hair and no beard. Something they have likely never seen before, and will never see again. And Gimli has nothing to cover his nudity. 

They follow the inkeeper to a small room. She eyes them curiously, but says nothing. “Dinner is vegetable stew with lentils. Do you want to eat up here?”

“I do believe so”, the elf says in his melodious voice. “Though I have some errands to run first.” He pauses. “Please send up one bowl of stew now, I will ask for the other one in due time.”

“As you like.”

The inkeeper walks back downstairs, and they are alone. 

“I shall be back soon.” The elf inclines his head. “Make yourself at home.” And he hands Gimli the key. 

He is gone before Gimli can ask any question. Not that Gimli intended to. It is just surprising to be given the key to your own prison cell ... or not. He cannot run away. Everyone will see that he’s a slave. Even if he had proper clothes, his lack of hair is an obvious mark. 

The stew, that is set before him with an angry glance, is good and thick. Nothing special compared to mother’s cooking ... but compared to dried meats, it is wonderful. There are three slices of bread to go with it, even. 

When darkness has settled outside the window, the elf returns. “I found some used clothes that might be your size”, he says, and throws said clothes on the bed. Then, he turns Gimli hears him walk downstairs. 

Clothes. With decent clothes, escaping might be just a bit more doable. Only then Gimli gets rid of the burlap, he notices how much it scratched on his skin. There is a rash, parts of his skin are open. He is pretty sure that is the intended effect. Extra punishment for those who can avoid being stoned. Not that Johin has to suffer all that ... Johin is safe in his friend’s home. Gimli would have to lie if he wanted to claim that he feels no resentment about this. 

He puts on the clothes. A shirt, mended so often it is made of patches, and trousers with ugly stains of questionable origins. They don’t fit, but he fits into them, which is good enough. The shirt looks like a gown with too long sleeves, and the trousers are so long he’ll stumble over them, but they are clothes. 

Soon enough, the elf returns, a bowl of stew in his hands, no bread. His stew seems to be thinner, too, but he eats without complaints. Then he turns to look at Gimli. “That will not do.”

“You want me to change into the burlap sack again?”

“If it pleases you to do so. You could also sleep naked, of course.”

Gimli huffs, but as the elf leaves again, does pull the shirt over his head, and gets rid of the trousers. He has to keep his head down, make the elf feel safe, if he wants to have any chance at escaping. However, he will not sleep in the scratchy fabric again. 

The bed stinks as if someone puked on it, but at least the sheets are clean, by the look of it. He lies down, wraps the blanket around himself, and stares at the ceiling, expecting a sleepless night. If the elf wants the bed for himself, he will have to say so.


	5. Chapter 5

_He is in his bedroom. Johin sits behind him, cradling him in his arms. “It might hurt a bit”, he says, and shows Gimli a shining blade. “But I know you are brave, my princess.” Johin drives the dagger into his chest, whispers comforting words. “Just a little bit more. You can take a little bit more.” He drives the dagger deeper, into Gimli’s heart. “It will soon stop hurting. Shhh, quiet. You feel so good ...”  
Gimli wants to beg him to stop, but the words will not come out. He will die. He knows he will die. _

_He opens his eyes. There is a hand on his shoulder. “Gimlee” His mother’s face hovers over him, she smiles sadly, and bows to press her forehead to his._

 

Again, he wakes up, this time in a hard bed that smells of vomit. Next to the bed, the elf is seated on the lone chair in the room. On his lap is a bundle of clothes. He is awake. Don’t those damned elves ever sleep? 

“The clothes should fit now.” He hands them to Gimli and leaves the room.

Gimli is torn inbetween feeling gratitude for the privacy he is given, and the suspicion that the elf just is not especially keen on seeing a naked male. Most seem to be disgusted by the very idea of it. Gimli never understood that, he knows what a naked male looks like, he has seen himself. And Johin was not at all disgusting ... but such thoughts are just painful. 

Now, the clothes fit almost perfectly. He could run away in those ... if there wasn’t his lack of beard. The lack of hair he could pass off as natural baldness, but the beard ... an adult dwarf without beard is unthinkable, and Gimli is not young enough anymore to pretend to be underage. 

 

They leave soon after, without breakfast. The elf leads his horse until they are out of sight of the village. Gimli has just gotten used to walking on his hurt feet again, when the elf commands the horse to lie down. 

“You should be able to sit on your own.”

Gimli mounts the horse, which is still difficult, the horse is just much too big, and takes hold of the mane. 

“I will tell her to stand up now.”

Somehow, Gimli manages to stay on the horse’s back. 

“Good.” The elf nods, and gives another command to his horse, and continues on his way, while the horse follows him. 

In regular intervals, Gimli is given food, water and breaks. When the sun sets, his backside aches, his legs are sore, and he cannot understand why anyone would want to ride a horse. 

While the elf starts a campfire, Gimli makes new plans for his escape. He has clothes now, which is good. He has no shoes, which is bad, but can be explained away. If he is able to pass himself off as a particularly short, broad human, the might be able to get work somewhere ... provided, of course, no none asks to see his hand. 

 

When he wakes up it is still dark. There is a noise nearby, like the cracking of a dry leaf. 

Next thing, he sees a blade glint in the moonlight. 

“Gimlee!”

It is like his mother is calling him, he instinctively turns towards the voice, and suddenly, there is a sword in his hand. Blades thrust at him, but now that he has a sword, they are easily deflected. Muffled cries are heard in the forest, and soon after, everything is quiet.   
Gimli is hurt, though not too bad. Just a cut at the left shoulder. More of a scratch, really. He looks down on the weapon in his hand. The blade reflects the moonlight, and the hilt in his hands feels like ... too long, too thin. Elvish. 

“You did not tell me that someone was after your life”, he hears a weak, yet melodic voice. The elf. 

“It was to be expected. Father hired them, I bet.” He turns around and sees the elf’s slender body stretched out on the grass. “Are you hurt?”

“Deep cut on the right leg”, the elf replies with the air of a warrior who has been wounded before. 

It must have been the elf who called his name. Nothing too strange, after all, his name was mentioned at the execution. It is just ... the pronounciation. His mother used to pronounce his name that exact same way. And she was the only one who did.  
Must be a coincidence. Still, he cannot bring himself to leave just now. It won’t take too much time to bind the elf’s wound some, and then he can run off. 

“There’s some bandages in my saddle bag, if you would ...”

“Aye.”

He finds the saddlebag sure enough, and rummages through it in the dark. There’s some more dried meat, the small clay jar, and, ah, the fabric of bandages. But there is also a piece of parchment, the size of a letter. Gimli hides it in his palm while he takes out the bandages. 

“Thank you.” The elf pulls his leggins down, and starts to bandage the wound. By the way his hands move, it is obvious he has done this before. “Why would your father hire people to murder you? They cannot have mistaken you for me.” He sounds genuinely surprised. 

“If it becomes known that his former son is enslaved to an elf ... he won’t like that.”

“Former son?”

“You don’t think he would still consider me his son, do you?”

“I was not aware such things could be changed so easily. Either you are of his blood, or you are not.”

“One could say he demoted me to bastard status. You know what a bastard is?”

“I know of the word, yes, though I refuse to believe in the concept.” The elf finishes bandaging his leg. “Any other threats to your life I should know about?”

“Gamli might have hired another couple of murderers, but it is more likely he will send them only when he learns that this attempt failed.” 

“Good. Now, let me have a look at your shoulder.”

Reluctancly, Gimli takes off his shirt. The touch of the rough fabric on his wound is painful. He turns so that the elf can inspect the wound.   
The elf touches his skin gently. 

_Johin traces a finger along Gimli’s collarbone. “My treasure”, he murmurs. “My jewel. You have such flawless skin ...”_

“I could sew it, but just bandaging it should also work. What would you prefer?”

“Just bandage it. I want to get some sleep.”

Though in truth, he is impatient to read the letter he snatched. And also, he doesn’t want the elf’s fingers on his skin again. 

The elf has him fetch the clay jar, and uses the stuff in it on the wound. So it really is for healing. 

With the wound properly bandaged, it does not hurt as much to put his shirt back on. 

As soon as the elf closes his eyes, Gimli rekindles the campfire, just enough to have some light for reading. The elf seems to be able to see in moonlight, but for a dwarf, a bit of firelight is more comfortable.   
Most likely, he won’t be able to read the letter, it’ll be written in elvish, but just in case ...


	6. Chapter 6

The handwriting is surprisingly neat. 

“The name is Gimli, son of Gamli. He lives in the dwarf town in the Blue Mountains.” 

Was the elf hired to murder him, too? More likely collect some head money, for delivering him alive, but to whom? 

Squinting his eyes, Gimli continues. 

“Do not ever mention the name Glóin to anyone but Gimli!”

Mother! The parchment nearly falls out of his trembling hands and into the glowing embers. 

“If you meet Gimli, and get to know him good enough so you can trust him to keep a secret, tell him that I am proud of him, and sorry to have left him without notice. Gamli must NEVER know about this.”

Gimli’s heart races as he walks back to the saddlebag to put the parchment back. 

It is her handwriting, he is sure of that. Which means she is alive. Hopefully. The letter is not dated. 

What does a note with his mother’s handwriting on it do in the saddle bag of an elf? 

Moreover, why did the elf buy him? Was the letter stolen from someone who wishes to help Gimli, and the elf means to sell him to that person for even more than five hundred? That would make sense, would explain the elf’s semblance of kindness towards him. There is only one problem with that theory, namely that Gimli knows of no one who would have both the will to save him and the money to pay the elf back. 

Maybe mother was rescued by a rich lord from the Iron Mountains, and he fell in love with her? She is a beauty, after all. Gamli may not have loved her enough to even search for her properly, but she deserves the kind of love that would cause a powerful lord to pay more than five hundred gold coins to free her son.

In any case, he needs to talk to the elf. To which he doesn’t look forward one bit. 

 

When dawn colours the meadows golden, Gimli opens his eyes. Immediately he feels that there is something wrong. But what?  
The elf lies sleeping next to the campfire, his horse stands close to him and neighs ... actually, that is strange. The elf never seemed to sleep before. 

Gimli gets up and walks around the fire. It is then that he notices that the horse’s nose is stained red. And the elf’s leggins ... soaked with blood. 

“Mahal!” he whispers in shock. Of course, not so long ago, he wanted the elf dead. Killing him would be the sensible thing. But. The elf saved his life. Just protecting his property, Gimli wants to convince himself, but still. It just does not feel right. And then, of course, there is the letter. He needs answers. Yes. That is a sensible reason to try and save the elf’s life. 

The elf is pale, so very pale that Gimli doesn’t think he can possibly be alive. His eyes are closed, his lips a very pale pink. Gimli holds one of his hands before the elf’s nose. Warm breath, at least. 

He hates what he has to do, but there seems no way around it. He removes the elf’s leggins, cursing under his breath, as the leggins’ legs are tied to some sort of underpants, and he has to undo laces. The blood makes the fabric cling to the skin, too. When he has managed that, he undoes the loosely bound bandage, and inspects the wound. It is a large gash, something that should be looked at by an actual healer, and blood is seeping from it. Cursing under his breath he ties the bandage so tight around the upper leg, that at least not as much blood can flow. 

The elf talked about sewing the wound. Now, Gimli should not be able to sew. That is women’s work. Not that he cared, back when he was a child, which is why he can sew. Fabric, that is. Skin? Maybe that is like working with leather. 

After some searching he finds a small kit with a needle – it is a bit bent, but otherwise fine – and some pieces of yarn. Two different kinds. He decides to use the thicker one. 

He bites down hard on his lip when he has the needle threaded and again inspects the wound. It is just too large. At least the blood seems to have stopped flowing ... but maybe that is because there is no more blood there. He chooses not to think about that, and starts work.  
Under the watchful gaze of the horse, Gimli uses lots of knots, and as few stitches as possible, but it looks horrible, and completely wrong. 

The elf doesn’t stir once, not even while Gimli puts a fresh bandage over the stitched part, just to be sure. 

“Don’t you dare die on me”, Gimli growls when he’s done. “You owe me answers.”

The elf’s eyes flutter open. “Mellon nîn”, he whispers softly. 

Gimli gives a breath of relief. “Have you forgotten the common tongue?” he complains. 

When the elf doesn’t answer, Gimli just fetches the waterskin and tries to get him to drink something. Lots of water flows over the elf’s chin, but a bit he swallows. 

 

The sun rises, and the elf doesn’t seem to improve. Gimli searches the murderers’ corpses. There is a temptation to steal their clothes, but he hasn’t sunken as low as that. He takes only the shoes of one of them, and their money. They did take the advance payment with them, which he thinks is rather stupid. He would have given it to his family, just in case. But then, he is no hired murderer, maybe they do things differently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, Gimli would not be able to do anything useful with his lack of experience in sewing wounds. There's a reason why Legolas neglected to properly take care of the wound, but the following events ... let's just pretend this is the Discworld and there are some leaking barrels with narrativium (http://wiki.lspace.org/mediawiki/Narrativium) nearby.


	7. Chapter 7

During all this time, the elf’s horse has been grazing nearby, sometimes nuzzling at its rider, as if to make sure he’s not yet dead. 

Gimli walks towards it, reaches up and uncertainly pats its neck. “What about you do that lying down thing? That would be terribly useful right now.”

The horse doesn’t react. 

Either it doesn’t understand him, or it just doesn’t like him. 

Time to try something different. He kneels down and shoves his hands under the elf’s slender body. His wounded shoulder aches when he lifts it, but finally, he holds the elf in his arms. 

“Now, be a good horse and lie down, will ya?” 

He almost stops breathing when the horse actually does as asked. Careful to not hurt the leg more, he lifts the elf onto the horse. 

Only then does he notice that the saddle still lies next to their campfire. 

As the horse will not let go of the wounded elf, making motions to stand up whenever Gimli tries to remove him, it takes a lot of pushing and shoving to get the saddle up, too, and it is probably all wrong, which doesn’t matter because Gimli has no intentions to ride, anyway. 

 

The horse is worth gold. More gold than Gimli, probably. It just walks after him even though he has not the faintest idea how to give commands. It seems to understand that the elf is wounded and needs to be taken somewhere else. 

Gimli continues along the path the elf had used. Somewhen in the afternoon he finds a brook where he can refill the waterskin. The elf seems to be unconscious all the time, but it is hard to tell. Hanging over his horse’s back as he is, he may find it less embarrassing to pretend he’s unconscious. Gimli checks whether he’s still breathing once in a while. 

Evening draws closer, with nothing resembling a dwelling in sight, and eventually Gimli resigns himself to the fact that they’ll have to make camp in the wilderness again. 

The horse takes some convincing, even though the spot Gimli found is perfect – a little forest for firewood, a brook for water, and a hill that provides some shelter from storms. 

Carefully, he lowers the elf onto the soft grass. “You could have dressed your wound properly in the first place, you know?” he mutters as he does so. “Would have spared me a lot of effort.”

There is no response, though Gimli thinks he sees a smile on the elf’s face. Maybe it’s just his imagination. 

Still, when he has freed the horse of its burden, he kneels next to the elf. “Are you awake?”

“Yes”, the elf whispers, not even opening his eyes. 

The wound is alright, or at least does not bleed anymore, Gimli can see that because he didn’t bother to put the leggins back on. So why ... of course the elf has not eaten anything. That’s not healthy. 

“Can you chew some dried meat?”

“No.” It is obvious that it is strenous for the elf to even talk. 

“In that case, you can either starve, or ... you won’t like the other option much.”

No response. Gimli takes one of the last two pieces of dried meat out of the saddlebag, bites into it and starts chewing.   
It takes a lot of self-control to not swallow, and instead spit it onto his hand. The elf won’t like this. Serves him right. 

Surprisingly enough, the elf swallows the mixture of spit and meat without protests. Maybe he prefers this to starving. His surprisingly soft lips open readily for every new portion. 

Gimli repeats the process a couple of times, gives the elf some water to rinse his mouth – he’s not completely heartless, and even elves don’t deserve some things - then sets about making a campfire.

He is a bit worried about the horse. Those beasts need to eat a lot, and this one has not had much opportunity to graze. Now it does happily munch on the grass nearby, but he wonders how long it will survive like that. 

This night is colder than the previous one, and Gimli curses himself for not having taken at least some the murderers’ clothes. Piety is all nice and good, but it won’t keep him warm at night. In the end, he snuggles up against the hopefully unconscious elf, sharing his woolen cloak. 

Morning brings lots of dew, and Gimli feels some reluctance to leave his warm sleeping place. However, the elf might wake up, so he thinks it best to get up before that happens. 

He has just lit the campfire when the elf opens his eyes. “You want answers.” His voice is barely more than a whisper. 

“Yes ...” Why does he feel bad about this? It might be his only chance to find out what happened to his mother, and yet ... it feels wrong to force the elf to talk. “You carry with you a letter, in which my name is mentioned. Where did you steal it?”

“No.”

“What? Of course you do.”

“I did not.”

Gimli frowns. “Do you mean you didn’t steal it? No, don’t answer. If you didn’t steal it, someone must have given it to you. Who gave it to you?

“Your father.”

“That is impossible. My ... former father would never have talked to an elf, much less given you a letter.”

“Real father.”

Gimli glares. “You may think of me what you want, but a bastard I am not.” Mother would never .. although the idea of Gamli not being his real father sounds somewhat appealing right now. 

“Glóin.” 

At least that’s what Gimli thinks he hears. It is hard to tell, as the elf’s voice is less than a whisper by now. “Stop talking, you’re tired.” He walks over to the elf, makes sure he is still covered with his cloak, and sits next to him. The elf thinks Glóin is his father. That means he has met her, but was unaware of her sex – which is not at all unusual for non-dwarves, the beards seem to confuse them. It also means that she mentioned Gimli to him as her son. Which makes it all the more likely that his mother actually gave the letter to the elf. 

She must have been under duress. It is strange enough as it is, that she should have given a letter to an elf, but if she was in danger, she might have. He takes the letter out again, and re-reads it. When he holds it close to the fire, no hidden message reveals itself. If he takes the letter at face value, his mother just wants him to know she’s proud of him. Which quite probably is not true anymore. If she knew ...   
She also wants to keep her whereabouts a secret, by the looks of it. That makes no sense ... except she has fallen in love with her rescuer. But if she was rescued, then why send an elf? 

When his clothes have dried, Gimli feeds the elf breakfast, puts the fire out, and saddles the horse, which is still there, amazingly enough. It shakes its head and stamps its feet after the first time he tries. The fifth time, it seems content, and Gimli has to admit the saddle looks less lopsided than in his first attempt. 

“I don’t plan on traveling far today”, he explains. “I will have to hunt. And also, I don’t think your horse will make it much longer if I don’t give it time to eat.”

“You ride?”

What does the elf mean by that? “I hate riding, and as the horse already has to carry you ...” On the other hand, hanging over the horse’s back like a sack of wheat cannot be very comfortable for the elf. “... but I think I can make one exception.”

By now, the horse seems to understand his intentions well enough, and he can heave the elf into the saddle, sit down behind him, and wait. Soon enough, the horse stands up and starts walking. 

As the elf is much taller than him, that means having a face full of elven cloak and hair, but as the horse seems to know where to walk, that’s not as big a problem as it might be.   
It also means very close body contact to an elf, but at his point, he doesn’t even care anymore. He has been humiliated so thoroughly that being seen essentially hugging an elf is not much worse than what he already endured. 

The elf’s cloak smells quite pleasant. It’s ordinary wool, from sheep, and it reminds him of home.   
If he buries his face in it, he can barely feel the absence of his beard anymore. 

It’s not that the elf feels bad, either. After all, right now, he’s just an unconscious body. The warmth of it is somewhat comforting ... which it really should not, but he cannot help it. 

Just when the sun is at its highest, and Gimli considers a break, he hears the sound of hooves. More than one horse. They have to get away from the road!

He pats the horse with the hand that’s not busy keeping the elf upright, and it shakes its head, but doesn’t react otherwise.


	8. Chapter 8

The sound of hooves gets louder, then suddenly stops. When Gimli manages to peek over the elf’s shoulder, he sees a cart drawn by ponies. On the cart sits a small figure who seems to stare. 

Well, at least the stranger is really, really tiny. No threat. 

“Greetings!” the stranger shouts in a really high-pitched voice. “Are you in need of assistance, elf-lord?”

“He bloody damn well is! Stop asking daft questions!”

The stranger seems startled, but recovers soon enough. “You, whoever you may be, are quite rude!”

When the stranger hops off the wagon and hurries towards the elf’s horse, Gimli decides it must be a she, as she is wearing a skirt. She also lacks a beard, but that's common for the other races. 

“Well? What are you waiting for? I do give you permission to help your friend onto the cart. It will spoil all my apples, just so you know, but _I_ am not rude to people I meet on the streets.”

Gimli sighs. “I can’t ride”, he admits. 

“You say! You sure look like you are doing it.” But the stranger is merciful enough to grab the reins Gimli throws her, and lead the horse to the cart, where it stands still, seemingly understanding her intentions. 

Gimli dismounts, falls onto a cartload of apples, and gets up again to help the elf. 

The stranger meanwhile climbs onto the cart, gracefully dances over the apples, and sits down next to the elf. “Oh dear! Why didn’t you say he’s wounded? He’s not dead, is he?”

“I hope not.” Gimli fully expects her to complain about blood on her apples, but she doesn’t. Instead, she returns to the driver’s seat and starts the process of turning the cart around. The road is narrow, but the fields next to it are level, so it is done with just some damage to ... whatever grain grows there. 

“And the poor horse!” The stranger clacks her tongue disapprovingly, and offers an apple to the milk-white steed, which it accepts with all the grace of a noble, taking dainty bites. 

“I am Dandelion Proudfoot. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

It is not clear whether she is talking to the horse or him, but Gimli decides he should at least try to make a good second impression. “Gimli ... son of Glóin, at your service.” His father left him no choice but to introduce himself with his mother’s name like a bastard. 

She nods, and with another clack of her tongue, commands her ponies to start walking. 

“Now that introductions have been made, may I ask whatever happened to you?”

“We were attacked. Or rather, I was attacked, and the elf came to my aid.”

“Robbers? Here?!” She seems alarmed. 

“No, no. We traveled two days since then. And the elf killed them both, so there’s no need to worry.”

“Two days is not that far a journey”, she observes. “I should take the dogs next time.” She clacks her tongue two times in a row, and the ponies start to run. Gimli falls down once more. Behind them, the elf’s horse keeps pace. 

To Gimli’s relief, Dandelion doesn’t ask about his lack of hair and beard during the ride. 

They arrive at a curious house, which is built part into a green hill. Dandelion drives the cart directly into the attic, which is level with the ground. “Let’s carry your friend to the hayloft. I would offer him a bed, mind, but I doubt he would fit into it.”

She takes the elf’s wrist, presses her fingers on it, and nods contently. “Pulse is weak, but present. Now, let’s start.”

Gimli takes the elf’s upper body, while Dandelion grabs the feet and makes sure they don’t drag over the floor. 

The hay is behind a small gate, likely so that the ponies can’t get to it. They lower the elf onto it, and Dandelion frowns. “I will fetch some bedsheets. Come, I will show you where you can sleep.”

He doesn’t really want to leave the elf alone, but it seems to be safe here. Dandelion leads the ponies back out, and grabs the horse’s reins. This time, though, the horse won’t move. 

“Come on. He’s safe here. It’s not as if you can do something for him anyway, you stubborn thing!” Gimli tugs at the reins, and finally, the horse starts walking. 

There is a small stable at the lower end of the hill-house, where the horse almost doesn’t fit, with an adjoined meadow. Dandelion uses a stepladder to unsaddle the horse, then gives it a pat on the back. 

Gimli takes his mother’s letter and the elf’s money out of the saddlebags and hides then in his sleeve before he follows Dandelion to the house. 

The garden is enclosed by a high fence. When Dandelion opens the gate, Gimli sees why the fence is there: Three giant dogs come running, their tails wagging. He intuitively reaches for his axe, which is not there. Dandelion smiles as the dogs bow their heads, and she pats their noses. “Now, now, not so hasty, Pansy. You’ll frighten our guest. Tansy, sit! Buttercup, sit!”

Gimli watches, amazed. Those dogs are so big Dandelion could ride on them! And still, they obey her every word. 

The house itself is rather small, a main room and kitchen, with three doors leading to other rooms. It is empty. “Where’s your husband?”

Dandelion frowns. “It’s _Miss_ Dandelion Proudfoot. I know you dwarves have weird customs, but as you are my guest, please respect mine.”

She lives _alone?_

_“Alright, alright”, he mumbles. He can’t stay in the house, then. It would just not be proper._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Culture clash time: For Hobbits, it is obvious that a guest would not harm them. That's a law, not made by them but by the Valar themselves. Think sacred hospitality. For dwarves ... well, I decided to interpret the movie as usual dwarven behaviour. A single dwarf woman would not invite a male into her home, because he WOULD attack her. Not Gimli, though. Gimli hasn't really figured out just _why_ a single woman should not invite him, he just has some fuzzy concept of it not being proper. And as the misogyny of his culture has not yet fully corrupted him, he mistakenly thinks it would be expected of him to uphold propriety if Dandelion doesn't. (It wouldn't. His father would have gleefully taken the opportunity to try and rape her ... and would have been ripped into pieces by her darling dogs. The hobbits in the border regions evolved to just happen to love big, fluffy dogs who are wary of foreigners. It's just their favourite kind of pet. Dandelion's awareness that anyone might want to harm her is rather low, though she has heard of robbers.)


	9. Chapter 9

Dandelion opens a door. “That’s the guest bedroom.You can sleep here, I trust you are not too tall for it.” There’s a wardrobe from which she takes some bedsheets, murmuring about a need to use two of them for the elf. 

“I would rather sleep in the hay”, Gimli says. “You know, to keep an eye on my ... friend.”

“Sure? Well, if you want to.” She shoves the sheets she has already taken out into his hands, adds a woolen blanket, and draws out another sheet. “Is the wound infected? He seems to be ill.”

“I don’t think it is. He has lost too much blood.” He has no idea how the bodies of elves even work, but if they are in any way like dwarves’ ... losing so much blood cannot be healthy. 

They carry the sheets and blanket to the attic, and Dandelion manages to make something resembling a bed out of the hay. She undoes the clasp of the elf’s cloak, and drags him onto the sheets. 

Before Gimli can even protest, she shoves up the elf’s tunic and examines the bandages. Her hand is dangerously close to where the elf’s underpants are. “Oh dear!”, she exclaims, and starts undoing the bandage. 

“What are you doing?”

“Why, look at his wound, of course. Make sure it’s not infected.”

When the wound is visible, she clacks her tongue disapprovingly. “Who did this? Shoddiest work I’ve ever seen!”

“Me.”

“Oh. Sorry. Well, I suppose you did your best. It will do. And it’s healing nicely. I suppose you were right and it really just is the blood loss.” Out of a pocket of her apron she pulls a clean white linen bandage, and applies it to the wound. 

After she’s finished, she turns to him. “You weren’t hurt, I hope?”

“Just a scratch.”

“What’s this on your hand?”

“Burned myself on the fire”, he mumbles, hoping that, she is clearly not a dwarf, she won’t know what it means. 

And she doesn’t. “There’ll be a scar. But at least it is a pretty shape. You should put some marigold ointment on it.”

He’s more grateful than ever for the elf’s decision to use a simple design. There is no way he could have passed off, say, the royal family’s emblem as coincidence. 

Dandelion leaves again, and he almost thinks she has gone to bed – it is early evening now – when she returns. “Here, the marigold ointment. I should have used that on the elf’s wound, too ... oh my, really I would forget my head if it wasn’t attached to my shoulders.” She also carries with her a bowl of soup, which makes Gimli’s stomach growl. 

“Marrow and nettle broth. My grandmother’s recipe for treating pale cheeks. That should do him some good.”

“If he maintains consciousness long enough to eat it.” He raises his voice. “Are you awake?”

The elf’s eyes open. “Thank you”, he whispers. 

Dandelion shoves the bowl into Gimli’s hands and instead holds the hem of her skirt as she curtsies. “Miss Dandelion Proudfoot. It is a honour to meet you.” She’s flushed, and for one moment, Gimli sees the elf with her eyes. 

Tall and slender, a face of eerie flawlessness, surrounded by pale golden hair. The shoulders are broad, if only in comparison to the very slender body, and the shirt, though dirtied by blood, is of a fine, silvery fabric, embroidered with leaves. A dark-green woolen tunic of elaborate cut embraces the elf’s body like a second skin. Not to mention the intricate silver cloak clasp Dandelion removed earlier. 

It is not surprising she’s a bit bashful in the elf’s presence. Even though the naked legs and white bandage around one of them ruin the overall impression. 

“Legolas”, the elf replies in a soft whisper. Must be his name. He gives no patronymic, but the omission is understandable, he’s tired. 

Gimli sits down at his side, and lifts the bowl. The elf makes no motion to take the spoon, so Gimli reluctantly starts feeding him. 

“I am sorry I can offer you no bed, Lord Legolas, they are all too small for you.” Dandelion explains. “I ... I shall go and fetch something to eat for Gimli.”

And she leaves Gimli alone with the elf. Spoon-feeding an elf is among the things Gimli never thought he’d ever do. 

“Well” Gimli mutters. “This is at least more convenient than last time.”

The elf – Legolas – smiles. 

It is hard to not smile back, because, really, it is a feat to stay cheerful in such a situation. 

Dandelion returns soon, carrying a tray with some bread and cheese and a meatfilled pastry for Gimli, as well as a clay cup full of some frothy liquid that he hopes is ale, and one very intricately decorated glass goblet filled with what looks like water. It is clearly one of her best. 

Gimli begins to wonder whether she announced her unmarried status to Legolas for more reasons than just to prevent more questions. 

“You are wounded, so I assume you will want to drink water?”

Legolas smiles and inclines his head. 

Dandelion carefully puts the tray down on a bale of hay. 

“If you need something else, just knock at the door. Don’t open it, the dogs are trained to attack. Um. The privy is just outside, the tiny house with a heart-shaped hole in the door.” She blushes as she speaks the last sentence, and curtsies hastily. “Goodnight”

Only then does Gimli realize that the elf doesn’t seem to have any needs to go to the privy. Which he is really, really grateful for right now. 

He continues to feed the elf with broth, then starts his own meal. When he has finished and wants to lie down to sleep, the elf opens his eyes again. 

“Glóin is your mother.”

Well, it was about time he figured it out. 

“Aye. When did you meet her? Is she well?”

“That I cannot tell you, yet she was alive when we met.” The elf – Legolas – closes his eyes. 

“Alive?!”

“When last we met, she was in an empty wine barrel, escaping from King Thranduil’s castle by river.”

“In an empty wine barrel?” That sounds completely crazy. Too crazy to be made up. “That would mean certain death.” It is so cruel. To have found his mother, only to lose her again. 

“It need not. The river is deep and runs smoothly, the barrels usually arrive in Laketown unharmed. I followed them for much of the way, and did not see any harm come to the barrels.”

“Laketown.” He knows, of course, that Laketown is close to Erebor. Erebor. The Lonely Mountain. Famous home to the exiled royal family ... some women of which also vanished along with his mother. “Did she travel with others?”

“She did. Thorin is one name I know of. And Ori. There were more.”

Thorin. The princess in exile, who has also vanished. “Was it your kin who abducted them? Thranduil is an elf’s name, is it not?”

“She came to Mirkwood of her own free will. And left likewise.”

“You talked about escaping.”

“They trespassed on our land, and therefore were imprisoned.”

“Ah.” That made more sense; it would have been noticed if elves had been present prior to the abductions. “I guess she gave you that letter while you guarded her?”

“She did.”

“Why would she trust ...” He frowned. “You believe she survived. You hope she will pay you back your five hundred gold coins out of the treasures of Erebor.” There was a dragon there. Everyone knew that. That’s why they had fled. But if ...

“I should like that.”

“But how did you know I was to be executed?”

“It took me by surprise.”

This makes no damn sense!

“Alright. We’ll talk more tomorrow. You should rest.” Legolas has talked more now than ever before ... even before he was wounded, actually. That can’t be good for him. 

“Sleep well.”


	10. Chapter 10

Gimli does sleep well. The hay is soft, the linen is clean, and the pain in his hand is barely there anymore. His shoulder doesn’t bother him much anyway, being a cut not a burn. 

When he wakes up, the elf is leaning to the wooden wall, watching him, pained expression on his flawless face. That leg wound must hurt a lot. 

“Morning”, Gimli mumbles. He never was a morning dwarf, and now that he is in a soft bed, he is in no particular hurry to get up. 

Legolas smiles. 

“So ...” The night before, they talked about Legolas’ reason for coming to the Blue Mountains, he recalls. “Why did you come, if you didn’t know of my execution?”

The elf closes his eyes. His face is still pale against the surrounding golden hair. “I knew that I was fated to meet you. So I researched your father’s name, his profession, everything. When I came, it was with the plan to commission a piece of jewelry from him, and meet you in the process.”

“So you could get on with your life, eh? Good plan, spit your fate in the face. Pity it didn’t work.” If he had known he was fated to meet an elf, he’d likely tried to hide away. He had to respect that sort of courage. 

“Indeed.” Now Legolas looks at him with what seems like genuine regret in his eyes. “Had I known about your execution, I would have taken precautions. Yet I did not, and I had no knowledge other than that I could gather by watching what happened to the other dwarf who was to be executed. I knew not, then, that they would demand to burn your flesh.”

Gimli sits up. “They don’t do that to criminals where you live?”

“No. Though I do not even know ...” Legolas’ gaze starts to wander. “No one ever did ... in my lifetime, there never was an incident of violent crime committed by an elf. Petty theft, when some cannot resist the temptation to try the king’s wine, yes, but other than that ...” His gaze again focuses on Gimli. “Now that you know my reasons, will you tell me what crime you committed to be thus cruelly punished?”

“You don’t know? They gave you a document detailing my crime.” He saw it in the saddlebag. It’s crumpled, as if the elf just shoved it there without reading. Maybe he did just that. 

“They did. Yet, I am afraid, I do not understand its meaning. They accuse you of unnatural behaviour. Which could mean anything, or nothing.”

Gimli stares at him. He thought the elf knew. He had been sure of it. If that is not the case ... “What guarantee do I have that you won’t immediately kill me when you hear it?”

The elf looks at him for a while. “I paid five hundred gold coins for you. My father will not be pleased when he learns I owe the dwarves of the Blue Mountains money. It would be foolish to not try and get my money back from your mother”, he says gently. “Besides, you saved my life.Though I know you will not want to put your trust in the honour of an elf.”

“Alright, alright.” He had not even realised he saved the elf’s life. But now that he thinks about it ... he likely did. Not that the elf would have been in danger if the first place if Gimli had not been there ...  
“You saw the other dwarf who was to be executed?”

“I did.”

“Well. He ... he was ... “ It brings tears to his eyes to talk about it. He will not cry in front of an elf! “He and I ...”

“There is no need to answer, if it grieves you so.”

Damn, must the elf be so damn nice? It makes him cry even more. “I loved him.” This sounds more true than to claim that Johin loved him. 

“Oh.” The elf falls silent. “It grieves me to have parted you from your love. I never ...”

“You didn’t”, Gimli interrupts. “He wouldn’t even look at me!” Johin is not his love. Not his One. Never was. 

“Then ... you turned to a life of crime in the hopes to win his love some day?”

Gimli stares at him. He cannot ... “We were to be executed for being a –“ He doesn’t know how the word translates to Westron. “A couple.” It is better to not use such dirty words, anyway. 

Now, Legolas seems to be confused. “What harm did you do?”

“My father won’t be able to show his face in public for a long time. If he had not renounced me, the harm would be permanent.”

“Ah. The strange customs of dwarves.” 

It is only now that Gimli understands the implications of Legolas’ first reaction. He was grieved to have parted two lovers ... “You ... you know, Johin is really male.”

“I assumed so. Among my kind, it is not a crime to love. It is true, Maeglin’s desire was considered unnatural, but had Idril loved him back, despite his being her cousin, I doubt anyone would have felt the need to punish them.” 

Gimli closes his eyes. That is all too much to process. “So, in your opinion, I have not committed a crime at all?”

“That appears to be the case, Gimli, son of Glóin.” Legolas sounds much more cheerful than he has any business being. 

Gimli huffs. “But I just bet you won’t set me free because of that.”

“I will not.” Legolas smiles, though his eyes are not merry anymore. “For I never owned you in the first place.”

“You carry a document proving that you own me. And what do you think you paid all that money for?” He cannot believe it. An elf would never do that for him.

“Maybe”, Legolas inclines his head. “For the privilege of your acquaintance?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Or maybe I knew that you would save my life.”

If Legolas had not bought him, there would have been no need to save his life. It makes Gimli’s head spin to even try and think about it. “So – I am free?”

“Free to go wherever you wish. As you have been all this time.” Legolas closes his eyes again. “I should have told you before – yet, I felt that words were not enough, that I would insult you if I offered a mere apology for what I did to you.” 

“Did to me?”

“I did not ask whether you wished to live, an outcast among your own people. Now I have told you that you may go wherever you want, but is it true?”

“Guess I could go back and get myself killed. Not that I have any intention to do that.” True, there is not much he can do. He is grateful anyway. “I am going to find my mother, and see if she still calls me her son, after what I did.”

Legolas nods slowly “I shall have to warn you then, that your mother may not want you to find her.”

“What? Why would she not want me to find her?”

“That, I do not know, yet her letter seems to imply that her quest is to be kept secret, even from you. Would she not have told you, if that were not the case?”

“Nah, probably just didn’t trust you.” He is an elf, after all. “No offense meant.”

“None taken. If I may point out, that she asked me to win your friendship first, before telling you?”

“Oh. That. She doesn’t want father to know about it, and as an elf, you will not be tempted to tell it to a dwarf, while I might have told him ...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my headcanon that Legolas has difficulties talking about things he has strong feelings about. In LotR he didn't want to translate for the fellowship when the elves sang in mourning of Gandalf, so ... I thought he'd not be able to explain things to Gimli. Buying someone is not a great way to start a friendship, and it is also something an elf would usually not even think of doing. So that's why Legolas has only felt able to talk about everyday things - he's in too much emotional pain and also very ashamed of what he had to do, to feel able to talk about it.


	11. Chapter 11

They are interrupted by a knock at the door. “Are you decent?”

“Always” Gimli replies. 

Dandelion enters, carrying a tray of food. “Good morning! There’s scrambled eggs with bacon, and some more broth, and, of course, apple pie.”

There is a lot of apple pie. Gimli suspects that the damaged apples have been put to use. 

Dandelion leaves rather quickly; she seems really flustered in Legolas’ presence now that he is fully awake. 

“Do I frighten her?” Legolas inquires when she has left. 

Gimli chuckles. “No, I don’t think so. She’s just not accustomed to having such noble guests.” He looks at Legolas. “You are a noble, aren’t you?”

“One could put it like that.”

Elves! “Come on! If, as you say, I saved your life, I deserve a clear answer.”

Legolas looks at him for a time, seems to ponder the possible impact of his answer. “I am King Thranduil’s son.”

Thranduil. That was the bugger who imprisoned Glóin, if Gimli recalls that correctly. “Royalty? I didn’t know that. So sorry I didn’t show the appropriate respect.”

Legolas laughs. “Do not be. Unlike the sons of men, I never will replace my father as king. That, at least, is my hope, for he is dear to me, and becoming king would be a poor compensation for his death.”

“Aye.” Gimli nods. If only he could say the same thing about his father. “If my mother trusted you so, why didn’t you ask your father to release her, then?”

“I have but little influence on his decisions, and he has no love for dwarves. My offer to help them escape in secret was not accepted.” 

Much as Gimli hates to admit it, that does sound like something a group of dwarves would do. “What are your plans for when you are able to walk again? As I must now assume you never intended to sell me back to mother ...” He starts eating, as it wouldn’t help any if he let the food go to waste, interesting as the conversation is. 

“My plan is to return home, and my hope that you wish to accompany me, for it would be safer for both of us. When I tell him of your many efforts to save my life, my father will see reason and grant you free passage through Mirkwood.”

“Aye. That’s a good offer.”

They eat in silence after that, until Legolas suddenly looks at Gimli intently. “You were wounded that night, too.”

“Just a scratch. Wanna see?”

Legolas inclines his head. “It could give my mind peace to know it is healing.” 

“Alright.” He puts aside his plate, which is almost empty anyway, and pulls the shirt over his head. 

“There. No blood.“

“May I remove the bandage?”

Gimli shrugs. “If you think it necessary.”

When Legolas touches him, recollections flash into his mind, again. Johin used to touch him just as gently. It hurts to think about it. 

“Gimli?”

“Aye?”

“Is there something amiss? You seem ... absent.”

“T’is nothing.”

Legolas continues to unwrap the bandage. There is a short pain when he removes it completely. “It heals quite well indeed. Maybe I can ask Miss Proudfood to fetch me a clean bandage from my saddle bag.” His face clouds. “Or not. There is the document you mentioned.”

“And?”

“It would, I fear, lower Miss Proudfoot’s opinion of me a great deal.”

“Why should it?”

“I have not visited the Shire often, but from what I know, hobbits are not fond of slavery.” Legolas shakes his head. “I should have burned it immediately. It was only out of some fear that a dwarf might try to claim you as his property that I kept it, and we are now safe from that.”

Gimli frowns. He had not thought of that. In fact, it is a reasonable fear. A branded slave can be captured and kept until the original owner is found. “Is that leaf thing on my hand your actual coat of arms?”

“It is not. My intention was to get the ... procedure over with as fast as possible. Why?”

“In that case, you should keep the document. To prove that you own me. When I go to Erebor, there’s some danger to meet an Iron Mountain dwarf on the way.” Gimli swallows. This is the most humiliating request he will ever have to make, at least he hopes so. “I would be very grateful if you made that symbol known in the Iron Mountains, and maybe, you know, hint that the King of Mirkwood might be a tad bit annoyed if someone stole from his son.”

“I see.” Legolas sighs. “Then I will have to keep the horrid document.”

“Is it really so bad? I mean, it’s better to own a slave than to be one, aye?” There may be a hint of bitterness in his voice. 

“That certainly is so. Still, my own people will treat a slave-owner much worse than someone who bears a brand mark such as yours.”

“Even if the slave-owner is an elf?”

“That remains to be seen. It has never happened before.”

Gimli watches Legolas eat his apple pie for a while. The elf is so graceful he doesn’t even seem to produce crumbs in the process. One would have to hate him for it ... if he was not currently bedridden, with a wound acquired in saving’ one’s life. 

“Why did you not sew that wound properly, actually? It can’t be your first one, you must have known how severe it was.”

“Oh, that.” Legolas tilts his head in a way that would make anyone else look slightly embarrassed. On him, the gesture looks dignified. “Well. Premonition is not always a gift. I knew I would be fine, and therefore thought it unnecessary to spend much time on the wound.”

That makes Gimli chuckle a bit. “I bet you wish you had not relied on your knowledge too much.”

Legolas smiles. “Indeed, I do. Though it was not just bad. The way in which things unfolded provided me with some insight into your character.”

“Make no assumptions, elf. I merely wanted to find out what happened to my mother”, Gimli replies as gruffly as he can. 

“Naturally.” It is obvious that Legolas doesn’t believe a word of it. 

 

Dandelion invites them to eat luncheon in her house, and Gimli helps Legolas limp there, after reattaching his leggins, which their hostess actually took the time to wash during the night. They stop at the meadow where she keeps her ponies and now the white steed. While Legolas pets his horse, Gimli looks it over. It looks a lot better now than before. Dandelion seems to have brushed the mane, and maybe fed it something more filling than apples.   
“Her name is Alfirin”, Legolas explains to the hobbit, who still seems a bit bashful in his presence. “Thank you for taking such good care of her.”

“It’s nothing. I have to take care of the ponies anyway.” 

With a graceful inclination of his head, Legolas repeats his thanks, leaving Dandelion completely flustered.


	12. Chapter 12

Over the next few days, Dandelion gets a bit used to Legolas, and starts to act almost normal around him. She is also kind enough to find a tailor who can make new clothes for Gimli (the murderers’ money is really useful for that), and refuses any payment for her help. 

In fact, she’s more insulted than grateful when Gimli offers. 

“Sorry”, he murmurs. “It just ... you didn’t get to sell your apples ...”

“The ones that were really damaged I made into pie, and those that were whole, Primrose Redhair sold for me, so no harm done.” She straightens her shoulders. “Let it not be said I take money from travelers in need.”

 

When they continue their journey through the Shire, Gimli notices that this stance is rather common among hobbits. They are very proud of their hospitality, so when the strange companions leave the Shire, Gimli has regained the weight he had before the day of his execution.   
Legolas remains rather slender, but that seems to be normal for elves. 

 

They stay at the Prancing Pony inn in Bree. Gimli knows they look suspicious, especially so to men, who are not as trusting as hobbits. So he pays for two rooms, hoping that the money will encourage the innkeeper to keep his mouth shut at least until they are gone. 

He has become so used to sleeping on hay that the bed feels like luxury. A bed that smells only of the soap used to wash the linen. 

Gimli goes to bed in the certainty that he will sleep well. And wakes from a nightmare. His recollection of it is fuzzy, he knows only that Johin was in it. Maybe Johin threatened him again. Why does he have such dreams of his former lover? Yes, Johin broke his heart, but that is a metaphor. Johin never raised a hand against him except in weapon training. So why? There is no one he can ask. 

 

Legolas suggests to travel to Rivendell next, he says the elves there are friendly, more so than those of Mirkwood. 

“Maybe”, Legolas says hesitatingly “Your beard will have grown back enough so that they don’t ask questions.”

Gimli doesn’t answer. It is very unlikely the elves won’t notice. Maybe he can claim to be in mourning. Most dwarves don’t follow that tradition so strictly anymore nowadays, and only ever the head hair is shaved, but the elves won’t know that. 

Several days after Bree, they encounter a river. Legolas cries out in delight, and proceeds to strip off his tunic. And shirt. At that point, Gimli comes to the conclusion that maybe he should turn his back to the elf. “Your leg is healed well enough to bathe?”, he asks. 

“It is; thanks to your efforts, and Miss Proudfoot’s amazing broth, I am almost recovered. Some clear water will do me good.”

Apparently Legolas wants to wash off the dirt of the road before arriving in Rivendell. Elves seem to have no noticeable smell, or shed any skin flakes, or whatever. 

Gimli, on the other hand, really could use a bath. It is a miracle Legolas has not yet complained about the stench. 

When he hears the splashing of water, Gimli carefully makes some backwards steps towards the river, and sees Legolas’ clothes lie there, much too close to the water. When he takes the heap and puts the clothes onto a nearby rock, he notices a silver locket fall out. Gimli picks it up, and it falls open in his hand. 

He intends to close it and put it away, he really does, but somehow, the picture it contains catches his eye. It is a rough ink drawing of ... himself, as he looked some years ago. 

Gimli puts it with the clothes, and turns around. “Why do you carry a picture of me with you?!”

Legolas is naked, something Gimli had forgotten in his excitement. Though the elf doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Your mother gave it to me.”

“You have some explaining to do”, Gimli replies, determined, but not angry. He removes his own clothes and steps into the river. It is shallow enough for him to wade into quite far. It is also shallow enough for him to notice that Legolas is not very ... generously endowed, so to speak. If the elf had not saved his life, he would use the word ‘tiny’. 

“So?” It is difficult to tower over someone taller than you, but Gimli does his best. 

Legolas kneels down. “I have not told you everything. My premonition was not only that I would meet you, it was a vision. Of myself, sitting in a sunny glade, with you next to me, and ... I was happy in my vision.”

“Happy.” 

“Yes. Happier than I have ever been after the death of my mother.” Legolas’ mirth is gone, he looks sad like a wilted grass stalk.

“Oh.” Gimli bites his lips, as if he could take his words back. “I am sorry.”

“She has been gone for a long time now”, Legolas says quietly. “It was when the spiders came ... she rode to the borders to find a missing guard ... when we found them, the guard could only be identified by his weapon, and mother was ... disfigured by spider poison.”

Without thinking, Gimli opens his arms, and suddenly, he holds a crying elf. Even in his sorrow, Legolas is graceful, his sobs are quiet and the tears that roll over his skin shimmer like diamonds. 

“Sorry”, Gimli mumbles, as he pats Legolas’ back. The skin there feels softer than it has any business being. He is almost worried about hurting the elf with his rough hands. 

Legolas seems content enough, though, and does quite a lot of crying before he withdraws, with an apology for his loss of control. 

“It’s alright.” And it is. He knows what it is like to lose one’s mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, Legolas mother is said to have died in Gundabad, but I have no source for that, and thought death by Mirkwood spider is maybe more dramatic. It was important to me that Legolas' parents were/are Royals Who Actually Do Something. 
> 
> Concerning Legolas' anatomy, elves are immortal (no need for haste) and monogamous (no competition), so having a body part that increases the chances of conception is rather superfluous. I didn't want to use weird alien anatomy, for fear it would distract from the plot, so I settled for a simple size difference. Yes, all male elves are like that.


	13. Chapter 13

When they sit around their campfire in the evening, Gimli notices that things have changed between them. He didn’t think of himself as flustered in the elf’s presence, like Dandelion was. But still, somehow, he feels more comfortable, now that Legolas doesn’t keep any more secrets from him. At least he thinks so. 

“You could just have let things proceed at my execution”, he says after they have been silent for a while. “If you knew everything would be fine ...”

“It is sometimes possible to change the future. I did not think that possible with my leg wound, but ... truth be told, I did not think. When I saw the other dwarf get rescued from the pit, I was so sure I had found the solution. It never even crossed my mind to attack instead, and to do nothing ... it would have been unbearable.”

“It is alright.” And Legolas could have done nothing to avoid the present state. Gimli would be an outcast in any case. Maybe some dwarves would be dead. And they would hate elves even more. That would not change much. “The solution you found will annoy my father. Which I have to admit I rather like the thought of.” It must sound callous. “Mind, not because he wanted me dead. It’s more ... you know, he plans to remarry. My mother will be declared dead one of those days ...”

The expression on Legolas’ face changes only a little bit, but by now, Gimli is well enough attuned to the elf’s reactions to know that Legolas is alarmed. “Do elves remarry?”

“Never”, Legolas says firmly. “I know that other peoples do not have the soul-bond we form with our spouses, but still, it seems callous to me ... did he not love her?”

“Love? No. Maybe he was fond of her.” Like Legolas of his horse, rather. Maybe even less, as the elf might mourn his steed quite a bit if it was to die. “So, your kind forms a soul-bond? How does this work? If it’s nothing too personal?”

“Ah. It is a matter we are advised to not talk about too openly, but I think I can make an exception for you.” Legolas smiles “Will you answer me a question of mine in return?”

“If it is not too personal, I will.”

Legolas nods. “A soul bond may form without intent in any intimate moment, but it forms, without fail, in the act of bodily union. My mother’s ... spirit body I think you would call it, is bound to my father’s, and his to hers, so they are married still, even though they are parted. He would not marry another. They will be reunited upon my father’s passing, but not before.”

“That seems very ... sad, and beautiful at the same time.” He is not good with words. There must be a better word for it. 

“It is. And it is very hard for my father. Please keep this in mind when you meet him; his son and his realm are the only joy he has left in this world, and it is only for us that he stays.”

“I will.” 

“Now I have a question. I noticed that it seems to cause you discomfort when I touch you, yet you always deny it.”

Gimli swallows the lump that has formed in his throat. “It is not that it causes me discomfort. Only ... Johin was the only one who ever touched me, and I am always reminded of him when you do.”

“The only one? Did no one else ever bind your wounds? When I was but a child, learning to walk, my father would often take care of the wounds I acquired daily.” Legolas smiles sadly. “He was merrier then than he is now.”

“Oh, my mother did that, when I was a small child, but my father forbade it later. He said it would make me weak. She sometimes hugged me nevertheless, but only in secret. After she ... left, Johin was the only one who ...”

“I am sorry to hear that. The more it must pain you that he does not love you anymore.”

Gimli stares into the campfire. “By now, I am not sure anymore if he ever loved me.”

Silently, Legolas places a hand on his shoulder, and this time, it is comforting. As must have been the intention back then, during the branding, too. 

Maybe he can dare to ask another question. “The ... you know ... Johin called it lovemaking, but ... that act of bodily union, should it be painful?”

“No! He ... he hurt you?” Legolas seems confused more than anything. Shocked, maybe. 

“Just a bit. And it was enjoyable, too.” He searches for words. Without the dream where Johin pushed a knife into his heart, he would never have questioned the older dwarf, but now ... “He told me that was normal.”

“It is not. I mean ... I cannot imagine it is, for dwarves. To hurt someone you love ... why?”

Gimli shrugs. “For his pleasure?”

Legolas sighs deeply. “Come.” He opens his arms, and without really meaning to, Gimli shuffles over to him, and sinks into the elf’s arms. It feels good, now. Not like being uncomfortably close to an elf. More like being close to a friend. It feels just right, and for a moment, Gimli wishes Legolas could be his One. He is so affectionate, and with how tiny his member is, lovemaking wouldn’t hurt ... 

But he doesn’t have to, he realizes all of a sudden. Legolas would not want to, anyway. He doesn’t want to be soul-bound to a dwarf, so he will never ask for anything more than a hug. Gimli’s heart almost bursts with joy at the thought. 

That night, Gimli sleeps deep and dreamless, and wakes up to the form of Legolas curled around him, eyes open as is Legolas’ eerie way of sleeping in the wild.


	14. Chapter 14

When Legolas tells him that Rivendell is close, Gimli draws the hood of his new cloak over his head, to at least hide his lack of hair. 

Not long after that, Gimli can see the houses of Rivendell, and he is astounded at their beauty. It is a fragile beauty, much like Legolas’ ... so maybe it is not as fragile as it looks. And he should not think of Legolas as beautiful. He is not the girlish, despicable creature Gimli thought an elf would be. 

They are greeted by a female elf in richly decorated clothes, who introduces herself as Arwen. 

Without thinking, Gimli introduces himself with his new name, as son of Glóin. 

“Glóin ...” the elf repeats. “I think that maybe someone of that name was here not too long ago.”

“Aye, that may well be.”

She smiles. “Legolas. How did you fare?”

“Well, in that what I intended to achieve was achieved, poorly in that I had to use means that are not to my taste.” 

Arwen inclines her head. “I am sorry to hear that.”

“As am I, to have done it. But no more of that now. I should like to hear more about Glóin.”

She nods, and makes a gesture for them to follow her. “He spent some days here, along with twelve other dwarves, and one hobbit. Mithrandir asked my father to aid them in their quest, and so he did. Of the details of this aid I have no knowledge, it appears to be a secret.”

“One he would keep even from his daughter?” Legolas inquires. 

“My father is an elf of his word”, Arwen says, laughing softly. “It is true that he trusts me with many things, but he promised to tell no one at all, and this promise, he keeps.”

“Did they tell you where they were headed?”

“No, and they left without farewell. Very strange, as are most visitors brought by Mithrandir.”

“Mithrandir?” Gimli asks. 

“Also known as Gandalf the Grey. A wizard. You may have heard of him, for he travels far.”

A wizard with a pointy hat and grey robes. Gimli remembered having seen someone like that, before his mother left. 

“I think I saw him. Listen, I’m not going to tiptoe around it, I want to find my ... father. If you have any knowledge ...”

“The only thing I can tell you is that he was well, as were the others in his company. As well, at least, as you yourself are.”

“What?!”

She turns around. “I did not want to intrude your privacy by mentioning it, but your beard is very short. It is said to be a sign that a dwarf is in mourning ... thus was the predicament of some of the company.”

“Oh. Aye.” Thank Mahal, she has not seen the branding on his hand. 

 

Arwen leads them to a room with a broad bed, which has the wood-carved statue of an elf at its head. 

She says something to Legolas in elvish, and he nods. “Gimli, would you mind sharing this room? Lord Elrond’s house is famous for hospitality, and other guests might arrive during our stay.”

“I don’t. Mind, I mean.” Actually, he prefers it. That way, he won’t be alone if, or when he wakes up from another nightmare. Not too long ago, he would have thought he’d get nightmares from seeing an elf’s sleeping face, with the open, yet absent eyes. Now, he considers the view comforting.


	15. Chapter 15

The elves of Rivendell are surprisingly pleasant. Sure, some of the things he has been taught about elves are true – they do like to talk in riddles – but he can tell they are not doing it to annoy him.   
Arwen seems perfectly content to only know that Legolas achieved his goals, though not in the way he would have liked to, and not what exactly those goals were in the first place.   
It just seems to be their way of communicating. 

Dinner is delicious – not at all just leaves and blossoms, as Gimli has been made to believe. There are leaf-salads and some of the foods are decorated with blossoms, but there’s also venison, nuts and mushrooms, and some bread. If a comparison must be made, Gimli liked Dandelion’s cooking better, but the difference is not that big. 

 

_Johin stands before him, dagger in hand. Gimli already knows what is coming, but he cannot move away. The dagger comes closer. He is frozen in place.  
There is mist, silvery mist surrounding him, and the dagger cannot penetrate it. _

“Gimli?”

He blinks. Johin has vanished, he is in a soft bed, and Legolas’ concerned face hovers over him.

“Just a nightmare.”

The nightmare does not return when he gets back to sleep, and in the morning he wakes up refreshed. 

 

Gimli spends the next day asking every elf he encounters about Glóin, and the other dwarves she traveled with. 

It is only tiny bits of information he gathers. There was a dwarf who liked woodcarving, and one who liked reading. One who asked Elrond about healing herbs, and one who had an axe stuck in his forehead. 

The axe seems familiar. Gimli recalls that his mother talked about something like this with her friends. At the time, he didn’t ask, because wives’ gossip is nothing a real dwarf his interested in. Now he regrets it. 

He is told that the dwarves made a lot of noise in the bathhouse, but cleaned up the water on the floor tiles. He learns that they complimented the food. No one outright says it, but the elves seem to think that those dwarves were exceptionally polite, compared to some other dwarves. Gimli takes the hint and makes an effort to not ruin their good impression. 

It is evening, and he is admiring the sunset on the mountains together with Legolas, when an elf approaches them. 

Gimli thinks they may have been introduced already, but it is hard to tell with all those new faces. 

“It has come to my attention that you are the son of one of the dwarves who traveled with Bilbo Baggins.”

“Bilbo Baggins?”

“The halfling”, Legolas explains. 

Gimli nods. “Aye, I am. Son of Glóin.”

“Bilbo was here not too long ago, and he told me everyone else is well. I thought you might want to know.”

“Everyone?” Gimli hardly dares to hope – there is a dragon in Erebor, after all. 

“Everyone.”

“Thank Mahal!” Mother is well! “And ... thank you very much for telling me.”

“You are welcome.” The elf gives him a nod and a smile, and disappears just as fast as he appeared. 

 

“Um. Who was that?” And why did he leave all of a sudden?

Legolas smiles. “That was Lindir. You have been introduced, but I understand it must be difficult for you to commit all those new faces to memory.”

“Why did he leave? I didn’t give the impression I don’t want to talk to him, did I?”

“Not in an impolite manner”, Legolas says quietly. “He saw we are busy admiring the view.” And he turns his gaze back to the red gleam the sun casts on the mountaintops. 

Elves are strange.


	16. Chapter 16

Gimli finds he likes Legolas’ particular brand of elvish strangeness. Especially the fact that Legolas seems to think nothing of sleeping next to him, pulling him into his arms, even, whenever Gimli has a nightmare. That is how they sleep in the wild; Gimli next to the fire, and Legolas behind him, watching his back with those ever-open blue eyes. 

 

As they approach Mirkwood, Gimli is surprised at how dark it looks. Gloomy, even. Not at all like a forest. 

“It is tainted, now”, Legolas explains. “Mortals used to call it Greenwood ... not anymore. Stay close to me at all times, it is dangerous in there.”

“Aye. Spiders big enough to kill an armed elf ...” Gimli shudders at the thought. 

“We learnt how to deal with them after mother’s death. I will try to teach you some of our methods, but we must be on our guard at all times.”

This means, Gimli quickly learns, that Legolas doesn’t even lie down to sleep anymore. Instead, he stands guard, which is the only thing that enables Gimli to get some sleep despite the creepy forest noises and gloominess. 

It is only their second day traveling through Mirkwood, and Gimli hates it. Hates it as in, considers burning the whole thing down. 

“How can you live here?!” he spits out when he cannot keep silent anymore. “It’s a horrid place!”

“It is my home – and your home, if I must remind you, dwarf, is doubly as horrid, and thrice as defiled, and by its own citizens, no less.”

Gimli is taken aback by this outburst. Legolas never, ever ...

“I am sorry”, Legolas says quietly. “It is ... the shadow that has fallen on the forest affects your mind. Please do try to not insult my home. The Woodland Realm was beautiful once, lush and green. It is not so anymore, but it is still home.”

“Sorry”, Gimli mumbles, and Legolas graciously accepts the apology with a nod of his head. He seems tired. 

Over the course of the day, Gimli learns to suppress the anger and frustration the gloomy surroundings cause in him. It helps to watch Legolas’ fair face, now tired and strained. If he does so, he feels nothing but sympathy. Legolas has not slept the night, even though he claims he can get some rest by letting his mind wander behind his open eyes, it can’t be healthy. Not if he doesn’t even lie down. 

 

They both walk now, and only take breaks for when the horse needs to drink or be fed some of the oats the elves of Rivendell gave them. 

Gimli sleeps while the horse grazes, and Legolas stands guard over them. 

With the days being so much like the nights, he doesn’t know how much time has passed when he wakes to the sound of elvish voices. 

Arrows are pointed at both him and Legolas. 

“It is alright”, Legolas assures him. “They need to make sure we have not been corrupted by the ... dark influence.”

As if to prove his words, Legolas holds out his hands for them to bind, and Gimli follows his example unthinkingly. 

Those elves do recognize the brand mark on his skin, so much is obvious, even though he cannot understand their whispered words. 

Legolas tries to get a word in, but is rudely interrupted. Finally, the elves seem to have decided where to take their prisoners. 

“Do not fear”, Legolas whispers. “They are solely concerned over my mental health, as to them it appears I bought a slave. We will be taken to my father, so that he can question us.”

And indeed, the elves treat them both decently, taking breaks and offering them something to drink every now and then. 

Some time later, they arrive at a kind of castle. It doesn’t look very elvish. Not exactly, dwarvish either, though there is a lot of stone. 

The elves lead them inside, up a lot of stairs, and finally, into a sort of throne room. 

Inside here, everything does look rather elvish, much like in Rivendell, or maybe even more so. The decorations are cleary inspired by the wood outside. 

Guards hold their spears in front of Legolas, separate him from the fair-haired elf on the throne who is obviously related to him. His father, Thranduil, Gimli remembers. 

All of a sudden, he cannot hold back the anger he built up in those past days anymore. “Come on! Give him a break! He hasn’t had a decent night of sleep in days, and he’s your kin! Don’t you think you are overdoing your safety precautions a bit?!”

It’s a relatively tame outbursts, compared to how he has seen Gamli act. 

The elf-king only raises his eyebrows. “You need not pretend to be concerned about his wellbeing anymore, dwarf. The mark on your hand is meaningless to us, and the document he carries with him shall serve as evidence in his trial. It will be burned immediately afterwards. The way of your kind is not ours, and I am deeply disappointed that an elf would sink so low.”

“Are ye even listening to yerself? How about, ye know, asking him?” 

The elf nods. “What do you have to say in your defense, Legolas?”

“Ada!” Legolas’ voice sounds so hurt Gimli can hardly stand listening. “You do not really think I would ...” He sinks to his knees. “Ada ...”

“I am king first, and father second. Explain yourself.”

“He saved my life, alright?!” Gimli yells. “I would have been executed if he hadn’t bought me, so cut him some slack already!”

Finally, finally the elf signals the guards to remove their spears, and gets up from the throne. 

Moments later, Gimli stands by as Thranduil hugs his son and talks to him in rapid elvish. It is rather awkward, in Gimli’s opinion, but the guards don’t seem to mind. 

A few moments after that, his hands are free, he sits in a chair that is just a little bit too high, and a servant brings wine. 

Legolas smiles, so probably everything is alright. 

“You are not angry, father?”, Legolas asks in Westron, clearly for Gimli’s sake. “I did not know you to be very fond of dwarves.”

Thranduil smiles. “The dwarves of Erebor have been wise enough to hire an ambassador who is not a dwarf. And they were so courteous to send me the starlight gems as a gift.”

Legolas’ surprise is plain on his face. Gimli is no less surprised. Dwarves of Erebor? There were only thirteen! 

“Five hundred gold coins are not even a tenth of that”, Thranduil continues. “I owe the dwarves a favour, and saving one of them from being executed is not what I planned for, but should do nicely.”

An awkward silence follows. “Your majesty ...” Gimli clears his throat. “Thing is, it was dwarves who wanted me executed. I cannot promise they’ll be happy to see me in Erebor.”

“What did you _do_?”, Thranduil inquires curiously. Apparently, the guards either did not tell him what is in the document, or, like his son, he does not understand. 

Gimli remains silent. He cannot just tell Legolas’ father that it is not his business, even though it very much isn’t. 

“He broke one of their silly laws”, Legolas says quickly. “You would not even understand why they hold it against him, but he does not like to talk about it.”

Thranduil inclines his head in a graceful gesture of agreement, and it looks so much like Legolas’ that it is clear where the younger elf learnt it. “As you wish. Maybe you should talk to the ambassador of Erebor. He is staying in the guest quarters.”


	17. Chapter 17

A servant is summoned to accompany Gimli to the guest quarters. The prospect of having to talk to someone who is familiar with dwarf culture makes him extremely nervous, but that is only until he sees the ambassador. 

He’s a hobbit. The ambassador of Erebor is a hobbit! Not exactly like Dandelion, but close enough, hairy feet and all. The little fellow hops down from the oversized elven sofa he has been sitting on, and bows “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

Gimli is almost too surprised to introduce himself, but only almost. 

“Oh! Gimli! Of course, I should have known!”

Somehow, this is not how Gimli expected events to unfold. “You should have known?”, he echoes, while the elf leaves and closes the door behind him. 

“Glóin will be so happy to see you! Why, of course I should have known, after all you look so much like her ... except the beard.”

“Aye ...”

“Sorry! That was insensitive, wasn’t it? Not my business what happened to your beard. Please, have a seat. And maybe you would fancy a cup of tea?”

Gimli sits down and helps Bilbo climb the sofa again. The small fellow stands on it, and pulls a bellstring, which summons a servant, whom he asks to bring them some tea.

“What brings you here? Looking for Glóin, I assume?”

“Aye. I thought she was dead!”

Bilbo nods. “That was the intention. Does your father know?”

“My father disowned me.”

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry!” The hobbit clasps both hands over his mouth. 

Gimli shrugs. “You couldn’t know.”

“So he doesn’t know Glóin is alive? Sorry, but I have to ask.”

“No, he doesn’t. Plans to remarry, actually. She is already declared dead by now, I’d wager. What do you mean, you have to ask?” By now, he thinks he knows enough about hobbits to be able to tell that the little fellow doesn’t want to remind him of the sad affair, so why ask?

“Ambassador duty. If you don’t mind, would you please tell no dwarf?”

Gimli frowns. “Wait. What? I’m traveling to Erebor, as I’m sure you know. Why?”

“Oh, you can tell the dwarves of Erebor”, Bilbo hastens to tell him. “But not the Iron Mountain dwarves. Or anyone else.”

“Why?”

“I am not authorized to tell you that.”

Gimli huffs. “Fair enough. So, how many dwarves live in Erebor that they need an ambassador?” 

“I am not authorized to ...”

“Alright, I get it.” A clever move, to appoint a hobbit ambassador. One just can’t be angry at the little fellows. They are so tiny, and so quaint with their hairy feet and embroidered waistcoats, and ...

The door opens, and an elf servant enters. 

And the food, Gimli completes his line of thought. Especially the food. 

There is tea – flavoured water, really, but it’s surprisingly tasty, reminding him a bit of the stuff Dandelion gave them. And there is ... Bilbo calls it scones, but Gimli is relatively sure there is beechnut or something inside that stuff. 

“So”, he says slowly while munching on the scone. “Mother is in Erebor, and she’s well ... that must mean the dragon is dead.”

“Possibly.”

“And she is with twelve others ... the other women who vanished at the same time?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.” The hobbit sips at his teacup. 

“Come on! You said mother would be happy to see me, so you think I will meet her, right? I will be told about all that anyway!”

“That may well be. But I am not authorized to give you any information.”

 

Before Gimli can try again, the door opens and Legolas enters. Introductions are made, and Legolas sits down next to Gimli. “Has Gimli already asked you about visiting Erebor?”

Bilbo chokes on his scone, and Gimli has to pat him on the back somewhat forceful. “Not as such”, he finally says. “And I cannot promise that you will be allowed inside.”

“But – mother ...” 

“You see, she is not alone. Um. What do you know?”

“I know she is traveling with one Thorin.”

“Alright, then ...” The hobbit rubs his hands. “I suppose I can tell you that Thorin might not want you there. However, I am sure a meeting with Glóin can be arranged.”

Legolas nods slowly. “When do you intend to leave? You will need an escort anyway, so we could travel with you.”

“My business here is all finished, I could leave tomorrow.”

“Don’t you want to stay here, some?” Gimli asks Legolas. “Recover from the journey?” And spend time with his father. It was awkward to see how affectionate the two are with each other, but at the same time, Gimli is a bit envious. Even though Thranduil takes his duty as king very serious, he obviously cares for Legolas – and more than Gamli ever cared about Gimli, too. 

“One night should be enough for that.” Legolas smiles. “I know you long to see your mother.”

Bilbo huffs. “May I point out to you that Glóin would prefer to be referred to as Gimli’s father? Really, I make all that effort, and you ...”

“They disguised as males?” So that’s why Legolas was confused, it wasn’t just due to the beard. 

“It is not that there is much disguise needed, but yes, they did. And I do hope you know how to behave yourself. Unlike certain other male dwarves I could mention.”

Gimli doesn’t know what to answer. He is a criminal, after all. 

“He is quite above reproach, I will have you know, Mr. Baggins”, says Legolas. “Even according to hobbit standards. One Miss Dandelion Proudfoot from the Shire would, no doubt, testify that fact.”

“Oh.” Bilbo beams. “Dear Dandelion! Moved to the opposite side of the Shire when she came of age. So she is well?”

“So it appears.”


	18. Chapter 18

After tea, Legolas leads Gimli to the bathroom, which unlike the bathhouse in Rivendell is carved out of rock deep inside the castle. There’s a pool that is too deep for Gimli to stand in, and it seems to be kept full of water. 

“Hot springs”, Legolas explains as he sheds his clothes. “There is an area where the water is more shallow, here.”

Gimli is relieved to see that he should be able to stand there. He really needs a bath, and it would just be silly to get none because the water is too deep.

When he steps into the water, it turns out to be deep enough that he’s almost fully immersed, up to the shoulders. The wound on his hand still burns a bit on contact with the water. 

Legolas shakes out his golden mane and slips gracefully into the pool. 

“You bathe just for the fun of it, do you?” Gimli grumbles. When Legolas just gives him a questioning look, he elaborates. “You don’t seem to ever get dirty.”

Legolas laughs, and even his laugh is somewhat refined and, above all, pleasant to listen to. “My hair was completely disheveled”, he claims. “Bits of twigs stuck in it, even.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Father combed out most of it, you would have been too stressed to notice anything before that.”

“Your father ...” Gimli forgets to end the sentence, his mouth stuck open in surprise. 

“Do not look at me like this. It is not as if I have no friends who would do my hair. My father has not seen me for a long time, and he wanted to do it himself.”

“That’s not ...” Gimli shakes his head. “I am not sure my ... former father even knows how to use a hairbrush.” 

Now it is Legolas’ turn to be surprised. “Do you talk in jest? All dwarves I have seen had such well-groomed hair ...”

“That would be because they have their wives do it. When mother vanished, Gamli had our hair cut, in mourning, he said, but I suspect it was to keep it in a state where his next wife could detangle it.”

“Really?”

“Aye. On our hunting trips, he was proud of his wild hair, as he called it, but mother always had to detangle it afterwards so he was fit to be seen in public.” Gimli huffs. “All I can say is if I had not changed my opinion on washing when Miss Proudfood offered us those bowls of nice warm washing water, you would likely have passed out from the stench.” His father was an enemy of washing, too, pretending to only do it because his wife demanded it. 

Legolas laughs. “The dwarves father had imprisoned did not smell that bad.”

“That would likely be because they are all female.”

“All of them?” Legolas leans back in the warm water, his rosy nipples a sharp contrast against the ivory skin. “That seems unlikely, but then, the ways of mortals are not our ways. Father always makes sure to have couples stay together, and lead an equal number of male and female elves to battle. Not only to spare them the pain of surviving while their mate does not, but also to make sure there are still children. Sending thirteen female dwarves to almost certain death ... “

“Your father sends female elves to battle?”

“Of course. Why not? I heard female dwarves are rare, but such is not the case with our kind.”

Gimli just wants to say something about females being too delicate and fragile, when the truth hits him: His mother must have faced a dragon. 

“Gimli?” 

He blinks. “I just ... did the hobbit mention a dragon?”

Legolas nods slowly. “You asked about it several times. He said he could neither confirm nor deny that it had been slain. Why?”

“Because if the dragon has not died of old age then ... then either some of those thirteen dwarves are male, or ... or the females killed a dragon.”

“Ah. You seem very shocked. Remember, your mother is confirmed to be alive.”

“But, but ... I don’t know about elves, but female dwarves are delicate creatures. To think that she faced a dragon ...”

The sound is quiet at first, but increasingly louder. Gimli frowns. Is Legolas ... chuckling?

“This is not funny!”

“Forgive me”, Legolas bows his head. “When I met your mother, she did not seem particularly fragile.”

Gimli imagines his mother in Mirkwood. “But ... her silken dress would have been torn by the thorns, and her feet covered in blisters, and her chain between her ankle bracelets would have caused her to stumble over every root ...”

“Do not worry”, Legolas says in a soothing voice. “As for blisters, I do not know, but she wore sensible traveling clothes when I met her.”

Of course. They would have immediately been recognized as women if they had not ... but still, it is hard to imagine. 

 

Gimli wakes up from a dream wherein his mother fought a dragon, who then turned into his father. At least the nightmares about Johin seem to have stopped. 

He has been given one of the best bedrooms, close to Legolas’ own. Still, he finds he liked the bed in Rivendell better. Mirkwood is ... well, mirky. And it is a spooky darkness. The castle’s halls are high and empty, and even this splendid room seems a bit ... lonely. 

 

There is a knock at the door, and Gimli almost falls over himself as he runs to open. Legolas stands there, carrying a tray of food. “We shall leave immediately after breakfast”, he announces cheerfully. “Have you slept well?”

“Aye”, he replies out of habit. 

“You do seem a bit sleepy.” Legolas looks at him with concern. “Are you alright? I knew you did not get much sleep, either, on our way here.”

“I’m alright.”

 

They travel in a small group, just the three of them and Captain Tauriel of the guard with two of her elves. Captain Tauriel is, apparently, female. Not that one would be able to tell. All elves seem to change clothes according to occasion, all of them wearing flowing robes at home and trousers and tunic outside. 

After a short way through the forest, they approach the river, and Gimli sees, to his horror, a boat. 

“Are we going to ...?”

Legolas, noticing the horror on his face, frowns. “We intend to travel by boat, yes. It is much faster, and safer. Is there a problem?”

“We are all going to drown!”

The elves start to snicker. Legolas glares at them, and they stop immediately. “We will not. I know that for a fact.” 

Gimli remembers what Legolas told him, about having had a vision. It eases his fears somewhat, but still ... 

“We are all excellent swimmers. It is highly unlikely ...”

“I’m not.” He clears his throat. “A swimmer, I mean. I can’t swim at all, in fact.” 

The elves stare at him as if he is some exotic curiosity. 

“Stay close to me then”, Legolas suggests. “I assure you, you are in no danger.”

 

When they sit down in the boat, Gimli is trembling. There is no way he could avoid this, asking to travel through the wood instead would be foolish and make the elves laugh more, but the river is so deep and runs so fast ...

Legolas sits down in front of him, and offers an arm. Gimli takes it, not without making sure that the other elves look in the opposite direction. 

If his father could see him ... but Gamli cannot see him, so he clings to Legolas unashamedly, and bites on his lip to stop himself from screaming in fear. Water is alright as long as it runs slow and he can stand in it, but ... this is not that kind of water. 

He has to remind himself that his mother made the journey in a barrel. So, how bad can it be?

 

When he stumbles on dry land, he has to throw up. No one comments on this. 

“You could try to smoke some happyweed next time”, Bilbo Baggins chirps. 

Almost no one. 

But the hobbit means well, and actually shares his weed and pipe with Gimli before they embark on the journey across the lake. 

“Make camp in the ruins of Dale”, Bilbo advises as the elves row them over the lake. “I will tell Glóin you are here, and then, we will see.”

Gimli nods. The stuff Bilbo gave him to smoke seems to have more effects than just curing anxiety. He feels unusually peaceful, and doesn’t even care much about the mark on his hand anymore. Or what Glóin will think of him. All will be well, he is sure. 

 

When the boat runs on the beach, Gimli wakes up to find that he has not only fallen asleep, but leaned on Legolas in the process. No one comments, though, not even Bilbo, this time. 

“Legolas?”

Gimli turns around to see that Legolas has left the boat, which probably is what confuses Captain Tauriel. 

“Gimli has expressed some concern on whether he will be welcomed by his kin”, Legolas replies. “I shall stay and make sure he is safe.” He turns to face Gimli. “If you have no objections, that is.”

“No. By all means, stay.”

Legolas says something in elvish, and the guards depart. “I told them to fetch me in two weeks. If need be, I can stay in Laketown.”

 

The two of them gather wood for a campfire, and set up camp in a ruined house. Someone has repaired parts of the roof, so there is shelter from the rain as well as from the wind. 

There is no reason to sit close to each other for warmth, but they do it anyway. Gimli only realizes that he has dozed off, leaning on Legolas, when the elf gently touches his shoulder to wake him.   
“Someone is coming.”

Gimli has just gotten to his feet, when a shadow hurls itself at him. “My laddie!”

He buries his face in his mother’s hair. She still washes it with the same herbs, and the smell is ... like home. 

Finally, she grasps his shoulders and pushes him away so that she can look at his face. “Gimlee, what happened to your beard?”

He hangs his head in shame, feeling unable to speak. 

“It is a most unfortunate affair”, Legolas’ voice sounds distressed. “I do not know of a way to break the news to you. My apologies for ... for not being able to return your son to you unharmed.”

“Not unharmed? What do you mean?!”

Gimli hides his face in his mother’s hair once again. 

“He was about to be executed when I first laid eyes on him. I deeply regret ...”

“Executed!? What ... why?!”

To Gimli’s relief, her arms are around him again. 

“May I tell her?” Legolas inquires softly. 

“Aye”, Gimli mutters, preparing himself for the pain that is to follow. 

“He was accused of unnatural behaviour. I trust you know what this means?”

His mother’s arms tighten around him. “Aye. I think I may have an idea. Oh Gimlee, did you think I would not love you anymore?”

He can only nod, as his voice would betray that he is crying. 

“My lad ... I am hardly better than you. Criminals the both of us. Sorry for stealing your boots, by the way – they fit better than Gamli’s.”

Gimli pulls himself out of her grasp, which she allows. “You ... stole my boots?” His voice must be a mixture between almost laugh and almost cry. 

“I am afraid I did.”

For the first time he looks at her properly. She wears no silken gown, so much is true. Apparently, she is still disguised as a male, though those clothes cannot be the ones she stole from her husband. On her feet, though, are the very boots he has been missing so much. 

Suddenly, he erupts in laughter, infecting his mother, and after they have been holding their sides for a while, even Legolas’ silvery laugh can be heard.


	19. Chapter 19

This is how the hobbit finds them later on. “Thorin says both your son and the elf – sorry, Legolas – can stay the night, on the condition that they leave their weapons at the door, and stay in view of the guards.”

“You really are a good influence on her”, Glóin remarks as they follow Bilbo. 

They don’t use the main gates, but a small door that seems to only open from the inside. Without being asked, Legolas immediately removes his weapons, and puts them on a stone table next to the entrance. 

Bilbo nods approvingly. “They are waiting inside. This way, please.”

He leads them into a brightly lit hall. Gimli blinks his eyes. It is almost as if he saw Erebor in its former glory. 

“Gimli, son of Glóin, and Legolas, of the Woodland Realm”, the hobbit announces. 

Gimli bows, out of some kind of reflex, then looks at the group before him. The one in the middle must be Thorin, though she is lacking most of her famous beard. She wears an embroidered tunic fit for a king, but not a lady. There are two young ones, her nieces, he concludes, and ... a human girl, the only one among them who wears feminine attire. The only other person standing out is a dwarf woman whose belly is somewhat swollen. 

“Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain”, Bilbo introduces. “Prince Fíli, heir to the throne, and her betrothed, Princess Sigrid”

Gimli gapes. A human betrothed to marry a dwarf? That is almost weirder than their both being female. 

Bilbo continues to introduce everyone else, as if this was completely normal. 

“You are to ask Dwalin and Dori whenever you want to go to the privy, and otherwise are not allowed to go out of their view”, he advises Gimli and Legolas. “I am sorry for the inconvenience.”

Legolas just smiles and inclines his head. 

“What, me, too?” Gimli grumbles. He would volunteer to share Legolas’ fate, but to just decide this for him ... 

“I’m afraid no exceptions can be made for relatives.” 

His mother places a hand on his shoulder. “There are unmarried girls here, you know.”

Oh. Alright. “Makes sense to assign a chaperone to the males, then, I suppose.” They are largely outnumbered. 

“Thank you for your understanding”, Bilbo chirps. “And now, it is time for dinner.”

Dinner is delicious, even better than Dandelion’s cooking, though that is maybe only due to it being dwarvish recipes.  
Gimli is a bit surprised he is not homesick at all. But then, why would he be? His mother is here, and she has always made home feel like, well, home. The high halls of Erebor feel like a home he has never seen, and the stonemasonry is the original to the style his father’s house only tried to imitate. If anything, it feels more like home than the house back in the Blue Mountains. 

After the meal, a harp is brought out, and Thorin sits down next to it. 

Everyone is silent while she plays, and Gimli spends most of the time looking at Legolas, whose face is perfectly serene now, eyes closed. 

“Never did I hope to hear such beautiful music here”, Legolas says quietly when Thorin has stopped playing. “I have a lot to learn about dwarves, it seems.”

“Aye ...” Playing the harp is another of those things only female dwarves are taught, and of course they never perform in public. Gimli now feels tempted to break that rule, too, and ask Thorin for lessons. Everything to see that look on Legolas’ face again. 

He sees his mother walk to the ‘King’ and hears them exchange some words in their native tongue, though he cannot understand what they are talking about. 

When she returns, his mother nods at him. “I asked for permission to talk to you in private. And your elf will get to hear another song.”

“He is not my elf”, Gimli grumbles as they walk through an empty hallway. “Actually, it is the other way round. He owns me.”

“Oh. He bought you?” She does not seem as surprised as she might be. 

“What do you think how he rescued me? Aye, he bought me. Look.” He shows her the mark on his hand. “Could be worse, I suppose.”

She gently strokes his hand where it is not burned. “I agree. Gamli likely would not.”

“He hired murderers to get rid of me. Legolas killed them.”

“Ah. The more you tell me about him, the better I like him.” The vicious smirk is nothing he has ever seen on his mother’s face before. It suits her, oddly enough. “But that is not why I wanted to talk to you.”

“And you didn’t want to tell my why you ran away, either?”

“That, I can tell you in public. No. I wanted to ask ... Gimlee, who ...?”

He swallows. Sooner or later, he would have to tell her. So why not now? “After ... after you left, father thought I was ... mourning you too much, and he hired a warrior to train me in using a battle axe. Make a proper dwarf out of me, you know.”

“Oh Mahal!” Her wide-eyed gaze implies she got the wrong conclusions. 

“Not like you think. Johin was very nice ... we became lovers ... and ... well. Gamli caught us.”

She grabs his shoulders. “No matter how nice that Johin character was, he was older than you and should have known better than to seduce an innocent young dwarf!”

“Mother ... I ...” He bites his lip. If she thinks he was seduced, innocent little Gimlee ... that is not the truth. “I thought him handsome even before he ... said anything. I am not innocent, I ...”

“My lad”, his mother interrupts him. “Haven’t you paid attention? Fíli is going to marry Sigrid. We don’t care about those laws anymore. My only concern is that ...” She sighs. “There were rumours about someone called Johin even before I left. He always got prestigious positions as weapons trainer, which he left after a couple of months. There was talk about blackmail ... I assume there must be fathers who love their sons.”

“You mean ...?”

“Aye. He might have blackmailed a lot of noble families. I am sorry.”

He cries in her arms for quite a while after that. 

Finally, he has no more tears, and asks quietly “Why did you leave?”

Glóin sighs. “It all started when Bifur’s husband embedded that axe in her head ... or maybe when Dís’ husband wouldn’t let Óin help her, thus causing her death ... or maybe it was when that same sick bastard thought he could get his dirty paws on Kíli ...”

Gimli pales as she tells him of the abuse she endured at the hands of Gamli, and how all of the other dwarves have similiar stories to tell.

 

When they return to the hall where the others are seated, not much has changed. Thorin is still playing the harp, but now Bilbo is seated at her feet. Legolas is still entranced by the music, and the others listen, not as entranced, but clearly appreciative. 

Legolas takes a short moment to smile at Gimli before he turns his attention back to the music. 

Gimli walks to Thorin and waits. 

When she stops playing, he whispers as quietly as he can “Teach me.”

“What?”

“How to play the harp. I want to learn.”

“Why?” Her puzzled expression reminds him that what he asks for is unusual at best. 

“I think”, says Bilbo “He is impressed with the effect your music has on the elf.”

“Maybe”, Gimli grumbles. He also likes the music, really! 

“We have not even determined whether you are allowed to stay more than one night”, Thorin replies. “And you would not even be granted that privilege if you weren’t Glóin’s son.”

He remembers what his mother told him about them wanting to get away from the oppression of males. But ... “What about the hobbit?”

“His name is Bilbo – Mr. Baggins, to you. And he earned it.”

The little bugger looks incredibly pleased with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, Gimli really just noticed that he wants to learn how to play the harp. Nothing to do with Legolas. Nope. Nothing at all. No connection there!


	20. Chapter 20

Soon after, the guards lead Legolas and Gimli to the house where they are to spend the night. Gimli manages to keep his mouth shut until they are inside, but immediately after the door is shut, he starts venting his frustration. “The hobbit is not even kin! But me, they would send me away, not because I did wrong, but just because I’m male! That’s not fair!”

Legolas inclines his head. “They took great risks to escape male dwarves. You cannot expect them to welcome you here”, he says gently. “Bilbo is a hobbit, and we do not know what he did to earn their gratitude.”

“But I have nowhere else to stay!” How can Legolas remain so calm? Gimli had thought him his friend, but apparently ...   
He sits down on one of the beds, ready to bury his face in his hands. 

“You have. My home may not be to your taste, yet ...”

Gimli stares at him. “Mirkwood? You would ... ?”

Legolas kneels down so their faces are level. “The life your mother gifted to you was vastly superior to the one I forced upon you without asking. I owe you so much more than she does.”

Elves! But he cannot deny it makes some sense. “Your father would not allow it.”

“He may not like it. Debts must be paid. Fear not, regardless what Thorin decides, you will have a place to stay.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing, but instead grabs the elf’s shoulders and pushes his forehead against Legolas’, more gently than he would with a dwarf. 

Legolas seems surprised, but does not withdraw, not even after some time has passed. It is Gimli who finally pulls his head back. “You are a true friend.” He doesn’t mean to say it, but it passes his lips without thinking 

“As are you.”

 

Legolas is too tall to fit comfortably into one of the beds. He says it doesn’t bother him, but Gimli is not convinced. “Let’s put both mattresses on the floor”, he suggests. 

“If it is no inconvenience to you ...”

“’Course not.”

This arrangement means he has to sleep next to Legolas, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest. Maybe he even likes having a reason to ... it’s good to have Legolas nearby in case of nightmares. 

When he wakes up, it is not because of a nightmare. Truth be told, he has no idea why he woke up, even. 

Then he sees Legolas move. “They are running somewhere”, the elf says quietly. “I shall go and inquire after the reason for this.”

Dwalin is still standing guard at the door. 

“Excuse me?” 

She turns to face Legolas. “Aye?”

“Is there an emergency? If so, I should like to help. In any case, I would like to know whether there is any threat to our safety.”

“No idea.” Dwalin frowns. “Tell you what, you two can just go and look what is happening, and I will follow you.”

It is clear by now that she wants to know what is going on just as much as they do, and this is the easiest solution. 

“Aye, let’s do that.”

Legolas leads them to the source of the noise, one of the many houses that were carved out of the mountain ages ago. 

Everyone else seems to already be there, but every time Gimli tries to ask someone what is going on, he is shushed. 

And then, suddenly, loud cheering resounds in the ancient halls. 

“Ah” Legolas smiles. “A joyous occasion.”

“Did you understand something?” Gimli whispers. 

“A birth.” The expression on Legolas’ face is similar to the one he wore when listening to the harp music. 

Now Gimli can hear it, too. Cries of “A girl!” are almost drowned by the general cheering. 

Bilbo emerges from the house, looking like a cat that got the cream. “A perfectly healthy baby”, he announces to the dwarves standing there. “Normal size for a hobbit.”

He is followed by Thorin. “What are the males doing here? Go back to sleep, Bofur needs rest! You can congratulate tomorrow!”

Legolas bows. “My apologies. We merely wished to know the source of the commotion, and shall retire to our rooms immediately.”

They walk back through the twilight of the mountain. “Wasn’t Bofur one of the dwarves?”

Dwalin nods. “Aye.”

“But ... why, then ...”

“Bilbo is the father. Not that it is any of your business.”

Gimli says nothing, his thoughts racing. He wasn’t even aware this was possible. Dwarves were carved out of the stone by Mahal, whereas hobbits ... he has no idea, really. It should not be possible to ... cross-breed, in crude terms. 

 

“I wonder...” Legolas begins when they are alone again. “Do you think they are married? Bofur and Bilbo, I mean.”

Gimli frowns. “What? Of course they are.”

“According to our customs, they would be, indeed. But do not mortals require some sort of ceremony with witnesses?”

“Yes ...” They would not have been able to get a priest, of course ... no dwarf would marry a hobbit to...

“I ask because if I had to guess who shares a soul-bond, I would have thought it is Thorin and Bilbo.”

Gimli nods. That seems curious, indeed. “You think Bofur is his, you know, kept woman?”

“I do now know the meaning of that word.” 

“Well, you know ... if a dwarf is not satisfied with his wife, he can take another ... she’d not be a real wife, but ...” He goes on to explain awkwardly. 

Legolas frowns, then shakes his head. “No, I do not think it is that. His devotion to Thorin is obvious ... though it is not my business, I would feel more at peace if I knew Bofur happy with this situation.”

The next morning, Glóin brings them breakfast, and Gimli is able to ask the question to her. 

“He offered”, she replies. “But she would have none of it. We have had our experiences with husbands. Bilbo is too sweet to ever think of marriage in terms of ownership, and hobbits in general do not see it that way, but ... “

“This is disgusting!” Legolas cries. 

“You are a guest here”, Glóin sternly reminds him.”Your opinion on how we do things is not wanted.”

“I think he meant the ownership thing”, Gimli interjects quickly.

“What else would I mean?”, Legolas asks, mildly confused. “Frankly, the more I learn about your males, the better I understand why my people never got along with them.” He smiles at Gimli. “Present company excluded.”

“Oh, did you?” Glóin is still wary. 

“We do not judge the mortal races for their ability to lie with each other without marriage. The notion that one could own another sentient being, however ...” Legolas shakes his head. “I was just surprised that Mr. Baggins has fathered a child with someone other than Thorin, and I hope he remembers his duties.”

Gimli hopes that the matter is settled with that, but no. 

“His duties?”

“There is nothing he could ever do to properly repay her for putting some of her life force into his child.” Such a very elvish thing to say. “Yet he should show gratitude.”

“Oh, aye, he does. He’s been fussing over them ever since the babe was born” Glóin smiles. “Reminds me, I should go see them.”

When she is gone, Gimli turns to Legolas. “You consider giving birth the same thing as saving someone’s life?” With last night’s offer to live in Mirkwood, and now this ...

“Not quite the same. Giving birth is the more selfess act, as it is done after much deliberation, and always endangers one’s own life to a degree.” 

Trying to comprehend Legolas’ thoughts makes his head spin. But Gimli was never one to shrink from a challenge.


	21. Chapter 21

Around midday, Glóin comes to fetch them. The second meal of the day is served in the hall where they have eaten dinner, but this time, no one seems much interested in food. 

There is a crowd around Bofur, whom Gimli recognizes as the one who had seemed strangely swollen the day before, something that makes much more sense in retrospect.

Stepping closer, he sees the child. She is tiny, not much bigger than her mother’s hands. 

“Easiest birth ever”, Bofur says, and it sounds as if she has repeated it a couple of times already. “I thought I needed the privy, and just realized in the last moment.”

“There’s males in the room”, Dori scolds. 

“They can bugger off”, Thorin says. 

Glóin glares at her. “Don’t use such language in front of my son!”

Thorin is just about to respond, when Bilbo appears before her. “I, um, don’t think it is appropriate to teach the little one such words”, he says shyly. “We have not even named her yet.”

“Oh.” Thorin gives a curt nod “Of course. Do you have a name in mind?”

“That will be for Bofur to decide”, the hobbit replies, smiling. “In the Shire, we are fond of flower names. But I suppose she will want something ending in ‘ur’, as seems to be the family tradition.”

They walk away, happily chatting. 

Gimli stands in awe. One, he never expected a lady to use such words, but second ... the fact that the tiny hobbit managed to change her mind in an instant ...

 

Legolas is silent during the meal, observing and listening. He seems quite happy that way, so Gimli uses the opportunity to talk with his mother, this time about her adventures. 

When she mentions the time she spent as Thranduil’s prisoner, Gimli looks at Legolas again. The elf doesn’t seem to listen to their conversation, lost in other, perhaps more important thoughts. “So, what made you trust him enough to write that letter?”

“His story was too weird to be made up. Also ... I had been worried about you for some time.”

“Why?” To him, it had all come out of the blue. If fath-, no, Gamli, had not hired Johin, and if they had not been caught ...

“You were such a sweet child, and Gamli never liked that. Always wanted you to be more like him.” She sighs. “Somehow, I just knew it would turn out bad. Knew that when the time came you would need a friend. What did I care that he was an elf? There’s a dwarven axe in Bifur’s head, not an elvish arrow.”

Gimli lets his eyes wander across the table, and realizes with a start that Bifur sits opposite from Legolas – and Gimli didn’t even notice the axe in her head. It is quite obvious, now that he has noticed. 

He shudders. 

 

“I loathe to be a burden to our generous hosts”, Legolas says after the meal. “What do you think of taking a walk outside this afternoon? We would not need to be guarded, there.”

Gimli looks at Glóin, who gives him an encouraging nod, and agrees. 

Dwalin and Dori give Legolas grateful looks, and Thorin generously allows Legolas to take his weapons, as it is dangerous outside. 

 

“Good idea”, Gimli says when the door shuts behind them, leaving only smooth rock behind. “I bet they want to fuss over the babe in peace.”

“That was my thought as well.”

“You did a lot of thinking, it appears.” Out here, there is grass and flowers, a bit like in the Blue Mountains, but more ... untouched, wild. 

“Indeed. It appears that they all show gratitude to Bofur, as she gave them a child who can be the future of them all. I am quite content to know this, neither she nor the child will want for anything.”

“Aye? I didn’t notice, to be honest.” Legolas is so much more perceptive, it is baffling. 

“The best bits of food are saved for her. You did not notice?”

“No, I was talking to mother ... well, that’s nice of them, I suppose.” And nice of Legolas, to look out for Bofur. Gimli has never met someone like this before. Most dwarves only care about themselves. Gimli only cares about himself, most of the time, he has to admit. 

Not that he wants other people to suffer. He just doesn’t notice when someone else isn’t well. Legolas is different. 

 

During their walk, Legolas asks for the names of even the tiniest flowers and lichens. Some Gimli can tell him because they can be translated into the common tongue, others, he cannot. And many he does not even know any name for. 

In the evening, Gimli feels that he saw more this day than ever before. Legolas makes him see plants in a way he did not before. 

Legolas also wants to look at the sunset from the rock face where the secret door is located. And so they do.   
Once again, Gimli catches himself wanting to learn how to play the harp. This expression on Legolas’ face ... it is more beautiful than a diamond. 

“You are late.”

Gimli groans as he turns around to face Dori. He wishes himself back to Rivendell, where people had the decency not to interrupt so rudely when Legolas wants to watch the sunset. 

“You just opened the door. If we had been here earlier, we just would have had to wait longer!”

“Do you think this is the first time I look for you?”

Gimli is just about to reply something when he feels Legolas’ hand on his shoulder. “Forgive our tardiness, please. It is my fault, I wanted to watch the sunset.”

And just like that, the argument is over before it has even properly begun. 

 

They are, indeed, late for dinner. Everyone else has eaten already, and Legolas apologizes to Gimli as if it is his fault. 

When they have eaten their cold stew – which is still delicious – Bofur walks over to them. “Have you seen her?”

Legolas’ face changes the same way it does when he watches sunsets. “Not yet”, he murmurs. “I am honoured.”

“Elf children are very rare, aren’t they?” Bofur asks, while her daughter giggles and grabs for Legolas’ golden hair. 

“They are”, he replies softly. “I have never seen such a small one.” He stares in awe some more. “If you ever need something for her, send a message to the Woodland Realm.”

“Thank you.” Bofur carefully frees Legolas’ hair from the babe’s grip, and Gimli feels some envy at how casually she touches the golden strands. He would not dare ... not while Legolas is conscious, anyway. The longing to just touch this hair was not there back then, when he could have done it. Now ... it must be because it really gleams like gold in the candlelight.   
Everyone loves gold. 

 

Legolas gets into the habit of going for long walks, starting after breakfast, and returns at sunset. Gimli sometimes stays home to talk to Glóin, but often joins Legolas. Out on the mountain meadows and in the forests, he’s free.

The days fly by, and it is almost time for Legolas to leave when they someday eat their lunch in a forest clearing. 

The sun shines, Legolas’ hair gleams in the light. Suddenly, Gimli notices something. “Ha! You’re not so perfect after all – there’s a twig stuck in your hair.”

Legolas laughs. “See? I told you it happens.” He touches his hair, only succeeding in entangling the tiny piece of birch twig even more. 

“Let me do that”, Gimli offers, and Legolas turns his head to the side to give him access. 

He is careful to not pull the knot tighter. While he works at disentangling the golden hair, his fingers accidentally brush over the skin of Legolas’ neck. Mahal, is it soft! And so warm, probably because of the sun ...  
Soon, he has managed to get the twig out, and presents it to Legolas with much ado. “There is the offender.”

Legolas’ face is strange, just as it is when he watches sunsets or hears harp music. Maybe the sunlight on the grass has caught his attention, for it is some moments before he takes the twig from Gimli. “I should take him into custody”, he jests, and actually places the twig in his pocket. 

He is very quiet after that, and in the evening, when they go to bed, Gimli finally dares to ask whether anything is amiss. 

“Not as such”, Legolas replies. “Though ... you remember that clearing where we ate? It is the same one I saw in my vision. Our future is now uncertain.”

Gimli swallows. Does this mean that they are not going to be friends anymore? It at least means he will have to be more careful now. “In that case, I won’t use any boats anymore”, he tries to joke, but Legolas doesn’t laugh. 

He goes to sleep before Legolas that night, and when he wakes up, the elf sits there, watching him, as if he didn’t sleep the whole night. 

“Homesick?”, he guesses. 

“I like Erebor very well”, Legolas replies. “I was just thinking about meeting my father again.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean to imply you don’t like it here.” 

 

He and Bilbo are the only ones who wave Legolas goodbye when the elf guards come to fetch him.   
The elven boats are not even out of sight when Gimli decides that he will accompany the ambassador on his next visit to Mirkwood. 

“Will you go to Mirkwood again? Now that you have a child here, and all?” he asks, just to make sure. 

“You already miss him?”

Gimli freezes. “What’s it to you?”

The hobbit raises his hands. “No need to be defensive. I’m not a dwarf, I won’t hold it against you that your best friend is an elf.”

“Thanks.” Best friend. Yes, that is probably what Legolas is to him. And he to Legolas? Maybe. “So, will you?”

“Of course. I should have been here before – didn’t know she was nearing the end of pregnancy, should have supported her more – but now, the child is born, so she’s in no danger anymore.” Bilbo eyes him suspicously. “You disapprove, don’t you? Think I should have done the honourable thing and married her.”

“Legolas thinks you are in love with Thorin. Why didn’t you marry her? Why have a child with another?”

“Thorin? You can’t be serious. She’s a princess, you know? Much too good for the likes of me.”

“And?” There is something else, he can hear it.

“Well. You don’t really think she would want to marry, do you? Glóin told you why they are here.”

“Aye ...” He remembers, yes. But ... “You are her favourite. She does everything for you.” Legolas noticed that first, of course. 

“Maybe”, the hobbit replies stiffly. 

“So, why not have your child with her?”

“It is not that easy”, Bilbo says curtly, and that is the end of that conversation.


	22. Chapter 22

The first night alone in his bed is hard. His nightmares about Johin return, and Gimli moves in with his mother after another couple of nights. Her snoring in the next room is comforting, but still, it is not the same as seeing Legolas’s concerned face whenever he wakes with a start. 

Gimli starts to work with gold. There is plenty of that in Erebor, Thorin encourages him to make coins into jewelry, and he is given all the tools the smiths left while fleeing.   
Having something to do with his hands is good, and making beautiful things is even better. It would just be so much better if he could ask Legolas’ opinion about his ideas. 

To his surprise, Thorin takes an avid interest in his work. She often volunteers to keep an eye on him while he works. 

“What is this?”, she ask suddenly, when Gimli puts the finishing touches on one of his creations. 

“Um.” It is the sort of circlet he has seen on the Rivendell elves, but he made it with Legolas in mind. It is silver with emeralds to match golden hair. “Something.”

“You miss the elf.”

“He has a name, you know?”

“You can accompany Bilbo on his next journey to Mirkwood.”

“Aye, I can do that. Keep your precious hobbit safe.” Gimli gently places the circlet on a workbench. 

“He is not my hobbit.”

“Always follows you around, doesn’t he?”

She ignores him. 

“You love him, don’t you?”

Thorin glares at him. It seems he guessed right. “We are just friends. Just like you and your ... Legolas.”

Gimli huffs. As if it is not obvious to everyone that Thorin simply adores the hobbit! And it is not just his overall demeanour and tinyness that makes her face go soft whenever he is around. Bilbo is the only one who can dissuade her from starting a fight, or ...

He bites on his lip. He himself is angered almost as easily as Thorin, and ... truth be told, Legolas always managed to calm him down. And then there is the circlet. Of course, it is not ... if Gimli were engaged to a dwarf, he would make an ankle bracelet for her, and a chain to link it to the other one she already wears. To make her his. 

A circlet ... it is not the same thing. He just thinks it might look nice on Legolas. And maybe Legolas would like it. He does like beautiful things, even though blossoms and sunsets are more interesting to him than gold and gems. 

And Gimli has no desire to make Legolas his own. He just enjoys being in the same place as him. As friends. Giving Legolas an ankle bracelet would be stupid. He likes watching the elf run gracefully over the mountain meadows. 

After all, he knows what love feels like. Love was what he had with Johin. He needed Johin like air for breathing. Every moment with Johin was ecstasy, every moment without him was agony. And whenever Johin had hinted that he might not like Gimli anymore, if Gimli was not careful ... there had been fear. 

True, he thought it would be nice if Legolas was his One, back then, when Legolas had hugged him for the first time. But he doesn’t feel like that anymore. The desperate need to be loved is not there anymore. 

No. What he has with Legolas is friendship. The elf is like sunlight, warm sunlight on one’s face ... rainy days are not bad, and in nights, one can make do with candlelight.   
He misses Legolas, yes, but he feels alright. Not like a sobbing, crying mess. 

It cannot be love. 

 

The next day, things turn out very different. 

Kíli is the first to see it, and she tells Thorin. Soon after, they all stand on the battlements and watch the approaching army. 

“No panic”, Thorin says. “I knew this would happen eventually. We have enough food to last us for months. A year if we add some rat meat.”

Everyone groans, and Gimli can guess that there is a story behind the rat meat. 

“Who is this?”, he asks. “Why would someone attack Erebor?”

“Iron Mountain dwarves. Dain, most likely. It was bound to happen sometime. He found out the dragon is gone, and now he wants to steal the mountain from us.”

Gimli nods. Thorin’s brother Frerin could have claimed Erebor, but he died a couple of years ago. As things are, Dain Ironfoot is the rightful heir to the throne. 

“We could ask Thranduil for help”, Bilbo suggests. “I mean, I could. You know I can be stealthy. The dwarves wouldn’t even notice I’m there.”

Thorin looks at him for a long time, then sighs. “That would be the most sensible thing to do. Go and ask him if he can send us food.” She bows down to press her lips onto Bilbo’s curly head. 

When the hobbit is gone, Gimli asks quietly “Why not ask him for warriors?”

“He has signed a pact of non-aggression with the Iron Mountain dwarves. And as long as they do not attack him, his hands are tied. Elves are more honourable than most dwarves would give them credit for.”

“He didn’t help when the dragon came.”

“I don’t blame him. If you were immortal, would you want to die in dragon fire, just so you can tell your ancestors that you kept your word? It is not as if he could have done anything while the dragon was out in the open. Against a dragon, stealth is the only option. We had a big advantage, having the beast cornered inside the mountain.”

She lets her gaze wander over the dwarven army. “Besides, he might have done more for the survivors if we had been more understanding of his reluctance to fight.”


	23. Chapter 23

Bilbo ran, out of the secret door, over meadows and fields, past the dwarven army, and along the lakeside. He ran until he could run no more. As soon as he felt sufficiently recovered, he continued running. 

At the borders of Mirkwood, he found the time to take off the ring, before he collapsed. 

When he came to himself again, he was on a horse. He blinked. An elven steed, so that probably was alright?

“Mr. Baggins. I hope you are as well as the circumstances allow?” 

He nodded, then noticed that he was incredibly thirsty and had a headache. “Water”, he begged, and the elf on whose horse he was held a waterskin to his mouth. 

“Why are you here?”, he asked when he felt better. “I just reached the border of the woods, didn’t I?”

“King Thranduil saw the army approach. We are riding to war, Mr. Baggins, though hopefully not to battle.”

Bilbo thought he recognized the voice. Must be Tauriel. “What? I thought you had a treaty with the Iron Mountains?”

“The agreement is being broken at this moment, and by the Iron Mountain dwarves.”

“How ...?”

“Get some rest”, she said gently. “You will learn everything when King Thranduil explains it to Dain.”

Knowing that the elves would come to their aid, Bilbo quickly drifted into sleep. 

 

When he awoke, it was because someone shook his shoulders. He opened his eyes and became aware that he was now lying on some blankets on the ground. 

Tauriel nodded her head towards a canopy under which King Thranduil was seated on a wooden chair. In front of him was a table with two glasses of wine, and on the other end of the table was ... that must be the leader of the Iron Mountain dwarves, Dain. 

Standing behind each of them were their trusted advisors, which for Thranduil included Legolas. Bilbo sat up properly to get a better view. 

“I have no intention of breaking our agreement”, Thranduil said patiently. “Quite the opposite. You have broken it, but I intend to give you another chance at keeping your word.”

“What? We didn’t even look at Mirkwood!” Dain blurted out. 

Thranduil sipped on his wine. “Indeed, you could not have known what you are doing, and that is why I will be merciful. Unbeknownst to you, my son has married one of the dwarves of Erebor.”

Legolas stepped forward. “Father ...”

Thranduil silenced him with a gesture. “You have laid siege to the home of my extended family. An act of aggression if there ever was one. Yet I am willing to forgive you.”

“Liar!” Dain growled. “No dwarf would ever give his daughter to an elf!”

“The marriage customs of my people do not require the consent of the spouse’s parents.” Thranduil smiles. “The consent of the spouse is more than enough.”

“No self respecting female ...” Dain hesitates. “If rumours are true, those are not self-respecting females, but nevertheless, I will believe it when I see it, elf. And as long as the father’s consent is not given, that marriage is not lawful.”

“You would hold me to dwarven marriage laws? Fine. I think it should be possible to get the parent’s consent. Legolas?”

“I really do not think ...”

“Tell him”, Dain cheered. “You are not married to a dwarf, right? That’s all just a ruse to wriggle out of our agreement.”

“I am lawfully wedded to a dwarf, as per the law and custom of our people, it is true”, Legolas said quietly. “Yet I do not agree that this sacred bond should be used in such a way. Father ...”

“I am sorry, Legolas. Please understand that I would rather not be known as untrue to my word. Would you please talk to your spouse?”

Legolas sighed. “If I must.”

“Now, my patience is short, Dain. Do you agree to leave the dwarves of Erebor alone, and return to the Iron Mountains, if I can give proof that this marriage is agreed to by all concerned, according to dwarf law?”

“Aye.”


	24. Chapter 24

“That ambassador of yours is really talented, I have got to admit”, Gimli says when he sees the elven army. A banner flies high above them as they ride towards Erebor. 

“Impossible”, Thorin breathes. “Even Bilbo cannot have ...”

But the elves are there, and soon one can see that their king meets with Dain. 

Gimli thinks he can spot Legolas among them, but maybe it is just wishful thinking. Or maybe not – he has little desire to see his dearest friend in a battle. 

Soon, though, he sees the slender figure of Legolas approach, with the brave little ambassador on his back. 

“I’ll open the door”, says Dwalin, who has been standing next to Thorin. 

Thorin nods and follows him. “Keep an eye on everything”, she yells as she leaves. 

“Elves are not nearly as bad as we have been led to believe”, Glóin mumbles. “Giving Legolas your name was my best decision ever. Most likely it was he who persuaded Thranduil.”

“Aye.” He wants to run to the door, too, but with two already going there, he is not really needed. Thorin would tease him if he went. 

Not long afterwards, Thorin reappears at the stairs, carrying Bilbo in her arms. This is the most blatantly affectionate she ever acted towards the hobbit, but then, the little fellow must be very tired. 

“Now, tell us what you heard.” She lowers Bilbo to the ground, feet first, but holds onto his shoulders. 

“Thranduil says they broke the treaty first – by attacking his extended family.”

“Family?”

Bilbo nods. “He claims that Legolas is married to one of you.”

Married? To one of them?!

Thorin seems to think the same. She glares at the distant tent where the meeting has taken place. 

“Genius!” exclaims Ori. “That’s really clever. If Dain doesn’t want to openly disregard the treaty, he has no choice!”

“No.” Bilbo shakes his head. “Dain demands proof that the marriage is lawful.According to dwarf law.”

Ori’s smile crumbles. “Oh. No chance for that – none of our fathers would ever agree ... even if they were here.”

That is true. However ... “Where is Legolas now?”

“At the door. Says he needs some time to assemble his thoughts. You know how he is.”

He knows, and he also knows that it doesn’t bode well. Last time Legolas didn’t talk to him was because he felt he had committed a crime too bad to ever apologize for. 

Legolas is still at the door where he entered the mountain, leaning against the carved stone, eyes closed. 

“Legolas?”

His eyes flutter open. “Gimli ... I ...”

“So, you are married now? Why didn’t you invite me to the wedding?”

Legolas smiles, but there is no mirth in his eyes. “My father insisted. I am sorry.”

“So, who is the happy bride?”

Now, even the false smile leaves Legolas’ face. “You.”

“Oh. I am flattered.” And he is, he really is. That Legolas would rather have him than, well ... anyone, really. Of course elves don’t value beards as dwarves do, but there’d always be Kíli, who is at least female. And a royal, to boot. On the other hand, he is the only one whose parent is there ... “Does Dain know that ... your bride is male?”

“He did not ask.” Legolas shrugs. “I suppose, as your father disowned you, Glóin can give her consent, and that would work? I cannot ask you to ... I will have to ask father to break his word, it is better than ...”

“No, it’s alright.” He gives Legolas an encouraging smile. “Trouble is, her consent is not valid. She’s just my mother.”

Legolas sighs. “I thought, as you introduce yourself with her name ... so, that will not work?”

“Not like that.” Gimli grins. “However, I know how it could work.” And whatever his feelings for Legolas are, he doesn’t mind being married to him. At all.


	25. Chapter 25

They leave the mountain together, walking in companionable silence until they reach the canopy where Thranduil holds court. 

“Ah, Legolas. Why didn’t you bring his mother?”

Dain stares at them in disbelief. 

“As Gimli informed me, his mother’s consent is not needed. Only his father’s.”

Dain dares to smile. 

“However, his father disowned him, which changes a lot.”

The expression on Dain’s face is priceless. 

“Gimli, would you show King Dain your hand?” Legolas asks, like they have planned. 

Gimli does so, a grin on his face. “You know what this is?”

“You are a slave!”

“Aye. My father forfeited all rights to my person. And guess who owns me.” It is not long ago that he was deeply ashamed of this, but now, it just amuses him. He knows he can trust Legolas with his life, so it is really just a stupid scar and a contract. 

Dain looks around suspiciously. “Who?”

“Well ... that scar does look a lot like a leaf, doesn’t it?” It fills him with glee to turn their cruel laws against them. 

“That’s not possible!”

“Oh, it is.” Thranduil smiles. “Quite by coincidence, I happen to carry this.” He shows the dwarf a receipt. “Four hundred gold coins, paid by Legolas Greenleaf in exchange for the life and body of Gimli, son of Glóin. I settled the debt recently.”

Gimli’s grin broadens. “And for all I know, Legolas is therefore authorized by our ancient laws to give me away in marriage. To himself, as it happens.” 

“No!” Dain’s mouth stands open. “That is not possible!” 

But it is. Gimli knows the law well enough. Male dwarves he knows of have married their female slaves, and the law makes no difference between the sexes; no one ever thought it necessary. There are other laws to cover that detail, but they are not part of marriage law. 

Thranduil gives Dain a bored look. “I suppose I could ride back to Mirkwood and fetch the proper contract. However, it will save us both a lot of time if you just believe them.”

“Are you kidding me? They are both male!”

“Oh, really?” Thranduil shrugs. “I have to admit, I was never able to tell, with all that facial hair your kind possesses. Anyway, you did not ask for proof that the dwarf was female. Just for proof that all parties involved consent. Which they do.”

 

“One day”, Dain hisses. “One day your son will want to wed a she-elf. And then I will be there to remind you of this ‘marriage’. And if not I, then my son or grandson.”

“Oh, by all means, do.” Thranduil smiles. “I am afraid you will wait in vain, but by all means, if it calms your nerves to look forward to it, do not let me spoil your fun.”

Dain turns to look at Gimli. “And you, slave”, he spits out. “I will keep an eye on you, and if you ever try to ...”

Gimli shrugs. “Given that I my lifespan is considerably shorter ...you will wait in vain for that, too.” Not that would even want to. 

By the time he leaves, Dain is practically seething, but he does order his troops to retreat. 

Thranduil raises from his seat and places an arm around his son’s shoulders. “Thank you, Legolas. Your sacrifice prevented a battle, and the deaths of many dwarves ... maybe some of my own warriors, even.”

“If you want forgiveness, ask Gimli”, Legolas says quietly. 

“Me?” Why him? “I’m not the one who will never be able to marry an elf-maiden. That is, technically, I will not be able, either, but to me, that is no sacrifice.” That Legolas would never be able to marry, though ... that was not planned. It is unlikely that Dain’s sons and grandsons will think it worth their time ... on the other hand, dwarves are quite good at holding grudges, especially against elves. “Thank you, Legolas.”

This doesn’t seem to cheer Legolas up much. But Gimli knows something that will. “Come back with me – they’ll want to celebrate.” And maybe Thorin can be persuaded to play the harp.   
He turns to Thranduil. “I am afraid I can’t invite you, but I will talk to Thorin, maybe she will send Bilbo.”

The elf-king smiles sadly. “Of course. Legolas, I hope you will be able to forgive me someday.”

Legolas still seems unhappy when they arrive at the secret door. And suddenly, it hits Gimli. 

He swallows the lump that forms in his throat. “Is there a maiden you wanted to marry?”

“No.” 

“Then why are you in such a bad mood?”

Legolas only sighs. 

“I’m sorry – I didn’t know Dain would hold such a grudge, or I would have been against this.”

This time, it is Dori who opens the door. “Coming back to say goodbye to your mother?”

“What?”

Dori grins. “With you being married and all, I thought you’d go live with your husband?”

“Very funny.” Gimli snorts. “We saved your asses. You owe us.”

Dori shrugs. “That will be for Thorin to determine. But she is in an agreeable mood.”

She leads them to the main hall, where all the inhabitants of Erebor have gathered. Everyone cheers when they enter. 

Gimli basks in the praise, in the cries of “You sure showed them”, and “That’s what they get for trying to attack us.”

Not for long, though. Legolas is still awfully silent. Gimli finds a seat for him, where Legolas obediently sits down, and continues to stare into the empty air. 

Bilbo is, thank Mahal, not with Thorin at the moment. Gimli sits down next to the hobbit. “You do have a lot of influence on Thorin ...”

“Yes?” The hobbit frowns. 

“I thought maybe you could ... sort of ... ask her to play the harp? Legolas seems a bit unhappy, and, well ... that would cheer him up.”

“I don’t think that is enough to cheer him up.” Bilbo shrugs. “But of course I can ask her. Some celebration is in order, isn’t it?”

“Aye, that’s what I thought. What do you think would cheer him up?”

“Well.” Bilbo glances at Legolas, who is silent as a marble statue. “He was very upset about the whole plan. Said something about sacred bonds and the like. No idea what to do about that, but I suppose you should talk to him.”


	26. Celebrations

Gimli’s views on the sanctity of marriage have changed quite a lot after hearing exactly why Thorin and the others decided to run away. But he remembers that elves are different. 

It must be hard for Legolas to now be legally married to one he does not love. Does not love ... Gimli may not feel love for Legolas, but he does like the elf well enough that he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with him. That Legolas feels different ... hurts. 

He doesn’t get much time to ponder that, for that very moment, Thorin appears. “You can go and help Bombur in the kitchen. We have a feast to prepare.”

“What?”

“You heard me right. Celebrations are in order. Dain will, no doubt, return once he has an army big enough to openly oppose Thranduil, but in the meantime, we are rid of him.”

“I cannot cook.”

“You will learn. You want me to keep your elf entertained, do you not?”

Oh, damn! Bilbo must have told her ... “Fine.”

As it turns out, his lack of knowledge is no hindrance. Bombur just assigns him easy tasks like cutting vegetables and mushrooms. There is some meat, too, but he noticed they use less meat here than he is used to. Not that he complains – it tastes just fine, and besides, Legolas likes green stuff. 

When he returns to the main hall, Legolas is seated at the table, still unmoving, with only the tiniest hint of a smile on his face, probably brought about by the sound of the harp. 

Gimli gives Thorin a grateful nod, upon which she gestures for him to come closer. 

“When did you intend to give him that circlet?”, she whispers, her words almost drowned out by the music. “That would cheer him up, I’m sure.”

“I ...” He never intended to ... it is not nearly good enough for Legolas, and besides, he doesn’t even know whether the elves of Mirkwood are in the habit of wearing such jewelry. Thranduil wears his crown, of course, but the guards never wear any ... “It’s not mine to give away. The materials are yours, and ...”

Thorin nods. “I give you permission. As a wedding gift for the two of you.”

“No!”, he hisses. “That’s why Legolas is so distraught in the first place. No talk about weddings!”

“Alright. Then make that a diplomatic gift in return for his father’s help.”

That sounds a lot better. “Good. So ... who is to present him with it?”

“If you do not want to, I will have Balin give it to him, she is good at looking dignified and grave.”

“Aye.”

He returns to Legolas’ side. Now, he really regrets that he was not more polite about his request that Thorin teach him how to play the harp. Maybe, if he had been a bit more diplomatic ... as things are, there is nothing he can do to cheer Legolas up. 

 

Just when everyone else is gathered for the feast, Bilbo returns from another mission. “King Thranduil sends his regards”, he announces. “And a gift for the baby.”

“What is it?”, Bofur yells over the table. 

“Why, what do you give a baby? Diapers, of course.”

Gimli stares at the bundle Bilbo carries over to Bofur. Indeed, there is fabric, and there is ... “What is this?”

“Soft forest moss.” Legolas smiles. “My parents used to accuse me of having contributed to its extinction, but there is plenty of it now.” 

It is not the kind of gift he would ever have expected to be exchanged among neighbouring kingdoms. But it is true, the babe will have no use for jewelry for at least a couple of years. 

“I have found a name for her”, Bofur announces. 

The murmuring stops, every gaze is directed at her. 

“I will call her Amber. The hobbit custom to name girls after flowers is a nice one, but I prefer stones.”

Bilbo blushes. “Oh – I would not have expected ... you don’t need to adhere to ...”

“I know. That’s why I did.” Bofur grins, and suddenly, the cheering starts. 

They all raise their cups and clink them so forcefully that some of the drink spills. 

Only Legolas is still quiet and mirthless. He does raise his cup, and touches it to Gimli’s, but he does so very slowly. 

“Silence”, Thorin demands. When the chatter has stopped, she stands up. “Prince Legolas. Your father sent his army to our aid, and it is thanks to you that bloodshed was avoided. Please accept a gift as token of our gratitude.”

Legolas raises from his seat. “It was the least we could do”, he replies quietly. “Yet I shall feel honoured to accept every gift you wish to give.”

This, apparently, is Balin’s cue. She takes out from under the table a green velvet cushion on which the circlet Gimli made is displayed. 

In the soft candlelight it looks precious and beautiful, but Gimli can all too well remember every mistake he made in crafting it, every dent he could not smooth. 

Legolas says his thanks in elaborate words, but there still is a hint of sadness in his melodic voice. 

“Will you wear it for the feast?”, Kíli asks, obviously awed by the way the light sparkles on the emeralds. 

“I know it is nothing special. Probably nothing you would usually wear”, Gimli interjects quickly. “We would all understand if you chose not to ...”

Legolas’ gaze rests on his face now. “Are you daring to insult the craft of your ancestors, Gimli?”

He blushes. “No, I ...”

“Or did you make it yourself?”

“The latter, obviously”, Gimli mumbles, very aware that by now, everyone is staring at him. “I’m not really a smith, you know, my father wanted me to be a warrior, and ... well, it’s rather shoddy, not worthy to be worn by a prince ... ”

A smile dawns on Legolas’ face, and finally, his eyes are bright again. “That is for me to decide, Gimli. Would you assist me in donning it?”

He would never be able to resist an excuse to touch this glorious golden hair, so of course he gladly places the circlet on Legolas’ head. 

It fits surprisingly well, and he only needs to bend it a little to make it perfect. 

When they are seated once again, Legolas bends over to him. “When did you make it?”, he whispers. “I am not a smith myself, but certainly it takes more time than just half a day?”

Gimli shrugs. “I have seen that kind of thing in Rivendell, and when I started to work with metal, it just ... sort of came to mind. Of course I would have used gold, only, your hair really doesn’t need any more gold ...”

Legolas laughs softly. “It is perfect. Emeralds are my favourite.”


	27. Chapter 27

Now that Legolas is happy, Gimli is able to enjoy the feast. It is only when they retire for the night that he again notices a pensieve expression on Legolas’ face. 

He doesn’t comment on it, as he knows that would get him no useful answer. When they arrive in the bedroom, Legolas looks at the mattresses as if there was something strange about them. “You slept on the floor all this time?”

“Not really. I moved back in with mother after you left. It was so quiet ... it helps with the nightmares when there is someone else in the house.”

“Of course.” Legolas wipes the dust off a shelf before he places his circlet on it. “They have not faded with time?”

“They have but ... some nights ...” Sometimes he wakes up and thinks it was all a dream and he is still in the damp prison cell, waiting for his execution. 

Legolas nods slowly. “I shall wake you immediately if I notice that your sleep is not peaceful.”

“Thanks.” 

 

Later, when he lies under the blanket next to Legolas, he revels in the feeling of safety. “Actually, one of the reasons I didn’t return to Mirkwood with you was the fact that I’d have to sleep alone there”, he murmurs. 

“That will no longer be a concern.” He can feel Legolas’ breath on his face. 

“Why not?” 

“We are married.”

Legolas’ voice sounds ... bitter? Of course, if the marriage is acknowledged by his own people ... “So ... telling Dain that we are married makes it so?”

“I once explained to you the marriage customs of elves ... what I did not mention is that we usually do have celebrations, just like mortals. Celebrations where it is common to state in front of witnesses that the couple is, or will be, married.”

Gimli groans. “I had no idea. Thought your people knew it was a ruse. Well. Sleeping in your room is probably not an option then?”

“The opposite is true, as I have just explained.” There is a hint of confusion in Legolas’ voice. 

“But you don’t like it, aye? Don’t want people to look at you and think you’re married to a dwarf.”

“There is no changing that now. You are very welcome to share my bed whenever you visit.”

Suddenly, the prospect to live in Mirkwood doesn’t seem so scary anymore. “You offered I could live there ... would you mind if I ... well ... visited for some weeks?”

“The offer stands, now more than ever. If you ride with me, you will not even have to use a boat.”

“That’s settled then.”

 

No one seems surprised when Gimli announces his decision to leave with Legolas. Not even his mother, which is a bit irritating. She hugs him and touches her forehead to his. “You know what to do if the elves don’t treat you well, eh?”

“What?”

“Barrels.” She winks. 

Never ever! It’s a good thing Legolas would never allow the other elves to be nasty. 

 

He rides on Legolas’ horse. This time, he almost enjoys the experience. Sitting close to Legolas is no hardship, quite the opposite. On the other hand, riding will never be his favourite means of traveling. 

Camping in Mirkwood loses its horrors when there are tents and tents full of elves around you, and the camp is guarded not by one single, sleep-deprived elf, but real guards who switch every couple of hours. 

When Gimli wakes from a nightmare in the first night, Legolas is right there with his concerned face and soft, soothing words. 

No really, he does not mind this marriage at all. 

 

When they arrive at the castle, Legolas makes true of his promise to let Gimli sleep in his room. Legolas’ room is much less gloomy than the one Gimli spent a night in. Not because it is spacier, or more luxuriously furnished, but because there are all sorts of signs that it is Legolas’. The bow and swords displayed on the wall, books lying around, the oil-painting of a lovely elf woman ...

“My mother”, Legolas explains quietly. 

“You have her smile”, Gimli observes. Thranduil’s smile is a bit ... harder, the smile of someone who knows that he won. Legolas’ smile is innocent, pure happiness. Just like the lovely elf woman. 

“Her smile was lovely”, Legolas agrees. “Sometimes I think it is due to her death that the realm has become so dark ... though it was the approaching darkness that killed her.”

Gimli doesn’t really know what to say, so he just takes Legolas hand. 

This time, Legolas’ melancholy passes faster than last time, and soon, the topic of conversation is clothes. 

“You should get something new. The tailors have no experience with dwarven clothing, of course, but I saw something on Thorin that seems rather nice ... I could sketch it ...”

“That wouldn’t do.”

“Why not?” Legolas looks at him, confused. “Is it because Thorin is female? I never understood the preference of mortals for different clothes for both sexes, but ...”

“She was wearing male attire, actually.” It is a bit amusing Legolas doesn’t see the difference. “It’s because she’s royalty.”

“As are you.”

“No, no. I am descended from a second son of the line of Durin, yes, but only through my mother, so that is hardly worth anything ... oh.” Does Legolas mean ... “Because we are married?”

“Indeed. Choose whatever clothes you like.”

“Well.” He strokes the fabric of the shirt he is wearing. “That hobbit tailor said green suits me. Maybe something darker than this?”


	28. Chapter 28

The elven tailor ends up suggesting the exact same shade of green that Legolas wears, and Gimli decides to go with it. Of course he won’t wear the exact same style Legolas does – he much prefers trousers – and if he must have embroidery, it should at least look somewhat dwarvish. 

Legolas takes to wearing his new circlet every day, which makes Gimli extremely proud. However, he cannot help but notice that he and Legolas are not as close anymore as they used to be ... or rather, in some ways they are still close, but in some ways, they are not. Legolas does talk to him often, that is not it. But they don’t seem to need a bath at the same times anymore, and while Legolas will still hug him while they sleep, he now does so very loosely, their bodies not touching anywhere else but the shoulders. 

He could think of no way to ask. That moment when Legolas had asked him why he flinched away from every touch ... it seemed so far away now, and he would never have been so open himself ...

As Legolas is perfectly friendly in every other way, Gimli manages to convince himself that it is probably nothing, even though there is a nagging suspicion that Legolas feels awkward about the “marriage.”  
After all, he can do nothing to change it, anyway. 

The other elves are ... polite. They give no reason for offense, but at the same time they also aren’t as friendly as the hobbits have been towards the strangers in their midst. And Gimli has the feeling their talking in hushed voices is about him, and their glances when they think he or Legolas don’t see ...

It is not so bad that he would want to leave, but bad enough that he is relieved when it is announced that the ambassador from Erebor has arrived. 

Bilbo is cheerful as ever, and talks in a decently loud voice to be understood by everyone. 

“Glóin is well”, he informs Gimli. “As are the others. Amber grows a bit slowly, but I suppose that’s due to her being half-dwarf. She does have a good appetite, though.” And he chats away about the babe. 

Gimli is happy to just listen. 

“So, are you happy here? Glóin will want to know, no doubt.”

“I’m alright.” And he is, really. “They are all very polite. Not that they have much of a choice if they want to remain in their king’s good graces.”

Bilbo raises his eyebrows. “But are you happy?”

“It’s not as if I’m treated any better in Erebor. At least no one thinks I have to be guarded all the damn time, here.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t ...”

Of course he doesn’t remember. After all, he has experienced none of that distrust. 

 

The next morning, Gimli awakes from a rather disturbing dream. It was no nightmare, though, and he is actually quite glad that Legolas has apparently gotten up already. 

In his dream, he had been back in the Blue Mountains, freshly sold to Legolas, but instead of a rope around his legs, there had been a chain. A chain between two ankle bracelets, like a married female would wear. 

And somehow, he is aroused by this dream, to a point where it is a good thing Legolas cannot see the tent in the lower regions of his nightshirt. 

It is strange, because the image of his being female never aroused him before. When Johin called him princess, he thought it disgusting. 

But being married to Legolas is ... somehow ... he needs a cold bath. 

In the end, he settles for cold water from the washbasin in the room. The water from Legolas’ washbasin is in the wastewater bowl, proof that the elf washed himself, without any need to do so. 

Gimli needs to wash if he doesn’t want to smell, and by now, he even has to wash his beard. Soon, he will have to think about how he wants to wear it. 

When he is dressed, he goes to look for Legolas. Someone tells him his husband went to see the ambassador, and indeed, that is where he finds them, sitting on the balcony, just so that the wind blows the hobbit’s pipe smoke away from him. 

They are both so engrossed in their conversation that they don’t notice him. 

“You know, my relationship with Thorin is quite similar”, Bilbo says when Gimli focuses on the conversation. “She has been hurt, so more than friendship is not possible ... it’s not bad. She will still let me wash her feet in the evening, and braid her hair in the mornings and all that. It rather feels like being married, and I’m happy with it. But you ...” He puts the pipe in his mouth again, and blows some smoke rings. “You should talk to Gimli. Maybe he wants more, too.”

“He has been hurt, too”, Legolas replies quietly. “It is ... difficult. But I am content ... and would be even more so if he allowed me to braid his hair ... or offer to braid mine.”

Gimli decides he heard enough and tiptoes away. He is not ready for that conversation. So ... Legolas wants more. 

His body likes that thought. His mind does not. Johin did hurt him, and although Legolas claims he would never hurt his beloved ... Gimli is not ready. And maybe he misunderstood – he still remembers the soul bond Legolas talked about. 

However, the next morning, he does ask: “May I help you with your hair? You said you’d ask friends to help with it, so ...”

Legolas smiles, his beautiful, bright smile. “Of course! I would have asked you, only I thought ... you said something about your father now knowing how to ...”

“Aye.” That was not what he had said to Bilbo ... “Mother taught me some things while I stayed in Erebor.”

His fingers are not nimble enough for the thin braids Legolas usually wears, but the braiding itself is really easy – his father’s inability to do it must be due to his refusal to learn. 

“Not quite as nice as you do them”, he apologizes when he is done. 

Legolas shakes his head. “Broader, but just as nice. That way, everyone will notice you did them.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“It is. There was talk behind my back, about you neglecting me. Those braids will put an end to that.”

Of course! He had been a fool not to think of that – the elves thought they were married, so ... on the other hand, how would they know? Did they ... did the look at the bedsheets and was that how they knew their prince was not being satisfied in bed? 

But then, why would the hair change anything?

“Hair is usually braided by parents, at first”, Legolas explains. “Once you grow older, you will ask friends, and when you are married, well, then spouses will braid each other’s hair whenever they are together. My father will sometimes ask for the help of a friend with combing his hair, but has not worn braids since my mother’s death.” He smiles. “It is nothing a good friend would not do, but it does raise suspicion if a spouse never does it.”

Gimli gives a sigh of relief. So, it is not the sheets then. Good. 

He is more open with his affections now, sometimes touching his forehead to Legolas’ within sight of the other elves. 

It seems to make the talking behind his back get friendlier in tone, he imagines, and the elves do not look at Legolas with as much pity in their eyes anymore. 

Legolas blossoms under the increased attention. Gimli had thought him quite content before, but within a couple of days, he is as merry as the Rivendell elves. Sometimes he absent-mindedly strokes the braids Gimli placed in his hair. 

Gimli is flattered, but also a bit scared. He remembers Johin ... and how it all came to nothing. Sure, Legolas never talked about ‘Ones’ and all that ... still. The increasing closeness they share ...

Maybe that is why he decides to accompany Bilbo. Officially, it is to see his mother again, and also to see to it that no harm comes to the tiny ambassador. 

When he says his goodbyes, he realizes that the elves will expect something more than simply touching foreheads. They have their own ways of showing affection. “Kiss?”, he whispers into Legolas’ pointy ear when they hug.   
Legolas’ expression changes, to the very same one he has when looking at sunsets. When their lips meet, Gimli is not sure who initiated the kiss, but it doesn’t matter. Legolas’ lips are just as soft as he remembers, and this is just so much better, so much less awkward than the last time he touched the elf’s lips. 

“Come back to me”, Legolas whispers softly. 

“I will”, he promises to himself as much as to Legolas.


	29. Chapter 29

With the weed the hobbit gives him, the journey by boat is endurable. However, the effect wears off somewhere in the middle of the lake, and Gimli just starts to feel somewhat afraid, when something catches his attention. 

A man in a boat. 

“Should he know we are there?”, he asks quietly. 

Bilbo pays no attention to him, but gets up to wave at the man, shouting a greeting. 

“That is Sigrid’s father”, he explains once he notices Gimli’s confusion. “Bard. A good friend.”

Bard steers his boat closer to them, greets the elves and Gimli, and proceeds to chat with Bilbo about the children. Apparently Bard has three of them, and has lots of advice to give to Bilbo on the topic. 

“... and sometimes a boatride is just the thing needed to get them to sleep.”

Gimli shudders. There’s lots of bad things that could be said about Gamli, but at least he never threatened to do that.   
On the other hand, Gimli doubts he ever was there during that time – some friends of his fathers explicitly visited because they couldn’t stand the noise of young children in their own homes. 

Despite the mistreatment of his children, Bard seems to be an affectionate father, just returning from visiting his daughter Sigrid. And his pleasure in knowing that she is well seems real.   
“I am worried about Tilda”, he says quietly. “The Master seems to think she is a good consolation prize now that he can’t have Sigrid. She is just a child, but ...”

“Send her to live in the Woodland Realm”, one of the elf guards says softly. “Our king would allow no harm to come to her, ever.”

“That is a very generous offer, but ...”

“... he can much more easily visit her if she comes to stay in Erebor”, Bilbo continues the man’s sentence. “It would be no trouble at all!”

The man blinks, obviously confused by the readiness of elves and hobbits to adopt his child. “If another daughter of mine were to mysteriously disappear, it would cause some suspicion, I’m afraid.”

“True ...” Bilbo nods. “Why is that horrible man still mayor? I mean, in the Shire, we elect a new one every couple of years. Don’t you?”

Bard gives a raspy, mirthless laugh. “No. He rules like a king. That’s probably why he resents me so much. I’m the heir of the last king ... not that I can buy anything for that.”

“Why don’t you just hire a murderer and get it over with?”, Gimli asks, growing tired of the conversation as the sick feeling in his stomach increases. 

“Hire a ...” Bard frowns. “I am a lawful citizen.”

“As is my father. He still thought nothing wrong with getting me killed – after all, he would not be the one dirtying his hands with my blood.”

“Our kind would never pay others to shed blood in our names”, says an elf. “But then, we also do not force children to wed adults. Maybe the problems of mortals can only be solved through the methods of mortals.”

Gimli grins. “That may be the case. If you are interested, the Blue Mountains are a place where you find the sort of person who would do anything for money.”

 

Bard departs to get back to Laketown, and just in time, as the next moment, Gimli hangs his head over the water and throws up. 

“There, there, you should have told me you need another smoke.” Bilbo pats his back, and gives him a handkerchief to clean himself. 

 

Upon arriving at the mountain, Glóin is pleased to see him, but, it seems, less pleased that he didn’t bring Legolas. “Where is your husband?”

“Mother! It was just a ruse!”

“Oh, aye?” She leads him to a corner of the hall, in some distance from the others. “I’m your mother, laddie. You don’t think I haven’t noticed how you look at him?”

“Mother ...” 

“And you told me about that Johin character, so his being male is obviously not the problem ... are you in love with Legolas?”

“I’m not sure.” Kissing Legolas feels wonderful. Everything feels wonderful with him. Still, Gimli is here now, and while he misses Legolas a bit, he is not in agony. 

“Why did you leave him behind? Has he hurt you?”

“No ... he is ... I think he might be in love with me. And I am not sure ...”

She hugs him and touches her forehead to his. “Don’t you worry. You can stay here as long as you want, I will make sure of that.”

 

Gimli has no idea what Bilbo told Thorin, but she does talk more to him during dinner than ever before, asking him how Legolas is, among other things. 

When he tells her that Legolas wears the circlet they gave him all the time, she even smiles. 

“King Thorin?”

She nods graciously. “Yes?”

“I did you a pretty big favour by allowing Thranduil to claim all inhabitants of Erebor as extended family ... so ... may I ask a favour in return?”

“Ask, and I will decide whether I grant it.”

“Would you teach me how to play the harp? Please?”

Her smile broadens. “I shall try.”

 

Thorin doesn’t assign him Dori, who is the strongest, or Dwalin, who is a warrior, as guards this time, but allows his mother to chaperone him. It is progress. 

When he is alone with his mother, in the now cozy house she claimed as her own, they sit down at the fireside and she brushes his hair. 

“It is growing back”, she assures him. “In a year or so, maybe it will be long enough to braid.”

“Legolas will like that.”

“Ah, yes. Your elf. Now ... you know, since we left the Blue Mountains, I have learnt something about love.”

“How so?”

“You know Bilbo. He’s an adorable creature, isn’t he?”

He makes some noise of agreement. 

“His people have a somewhat different concept of love ... especially of the love between spouses. He was pretty horrified by the idea that a dwarf would love his wife in the same way he’d love a treasured possession. His idea of love ... well, you have seen him with Thorin. Everyone knows he is head over heels in love with her. In his way.”

“She doesn’t seem to think so.”

“That’s what she says. It confuses her, you know? He would never consider her his property, so in her eyes, he only feels friendship, and she likes it that way. She wants to be treated like a friend, not a wife. Mahal knows dwarves treat their friends better than their wives.”

“Hobbits are different.” He is not exactly sure about the details, but it is clear both from the way Dandelion acted towards two male strangers in her home, and the things Bilbo told Legolas. 

“Aye. But Thorin is not quite convinced of that. Maybe, soon, they will become friends who share a bed”, she chuckles. 

“I share a bed with Legolas.” He notices a tug on his hair. “Oh, not in that way. You know. He’s just nice and sleeps next to me so that I am not alone when I have nightmares.”

“And you don’t want that to change?”

He blushes. “That is not something I ...”

“You don’t want to talk to your old mother about that. Of course. I wouldn’t want to know the details, either.”

“He is gorgeous”, Gimli concedes. “In a manly way. You know.” Not that there is much difference between Legolas’ beauty and that of Captain Tauriel ... except that Legolas is clearly more beautiful. But maybe Legolas would not even consider that an insult. “I just don’t feel the same for him as I did for Johin.”

“And thank Mahal for that”, Glóin grumbles. “If that elf had seduced my innocent son, I would have taken his hair. And maybe his ears, too.”

“Don’t talk like that!” To even think about violence done to Legolas’ beautiful curved ears ...

“Calm down, he’s a decent one and I don’t need to do anything to him. Just saying, you shouldn’t measure your love for him by the same yardstick you used for your feelings for Johin.”

“It’s the only one I have!”

“Nah, just look at Thorin and Bilbo. At times he treats her like a dear friend, at times he looks up to her like a servant to his king, and at other times, he fusses over her like a mother over her child. Now, I don’t know if he feels a desire to bed her, but judging from what he has with Bofur, I’d wager he does.”

“And what is this he has with Bofur?”

“Oh, I think they are really just friends. Who find each other attractive. She has told me things ... well, the details are not fit to be heard by innocent ears, but apparently she actually enjoys it when they, well, you know.” She clears her throat. “What I am saying is, none of us would compare our hobbit’s feelings with what a dwarf would feel for his wife, but I do know what a mother feels for her child, and I also know it is a truer love than what Gamli ever felt for me.”

There is no denying that. Gimli still has not gotten over the shock that Gamli planned his new marriage as soon as the town guards told him they couldn’t find her. 

“And I am sure Gamli loves his friends more than he ever loved me. Don’t measure love in how much you want to own someone, Gimli. Or even in how much you want him to own you. Measure it in how much you want him to be happy.” She puts down the brush and gently strokes his hair, like she did when he was much younger. “I know I want you to be happy, my lad, wherever you may want to live. They say there are different kinds of love, say that what a male dwarf feels for a female is different, but I think that’s just a lie to disguise the truth: That most of our husbands never loved us at all.”

“There are differences ...”

“Aye, but most of those are in, you know, the bodily aspect. I admit that Bilbo is a confusing case, what with his relationships with Bofur and Thorin, but there’s just this ... this devotion ... well, it is something I can see in his eyes when he looks at Thorin. Not to say he doesn’t care about Bofur, but it’s different, aye. Nevertheless, one can safely say that if he had to decide between doing what Thorin wants and what Bofur wants ...”

“What do you see in my eyes?”

“Oh ...”, she replies softly. “I ... well. You remember the last night Legolas spent here? When you gave him the circlet?”

“Balin gave it to him ...”

“And that is the only reason it didn’t cheer him up immediately. I could see it in your eyes that his sadness upset you.” She tousles his hair, undoing her earlier work. “And not because your treasured possession was not pretty anymore. You really do care about him.”

“Aye ...” And why not? Legolas deserves it. 

“Try to broaden your horizon a bit. Maybe you will find you do love Legolas after all. Maybe you should ask him how he defines love. Elves are different from both dwarves and hobbits, I bet.”

 

When he wakes up in the night and decides to sneak to his and Legolas’ house to ... take care of his bodily needs with some privacy, there is no denying anymore that he is attracted to Legolas in ... that way. It is weird and messed up that the thought of female attire is so arousing to him, that he wants his elven friend to ... claim him, but his body demands release. 

Afterwards, rubbing his cheek on the mattress where there still is one of Legolas’ golden hairs, trying to find a trace of the elf’s scent of forest and flowers, he wonders whether that is what Thorin feels for Bilbo. Bilbo seems to think so ... but then, the thought of the majestic King under the Mountain desperately rutting into her hand ... is this even possible for female dwarves? Anyway, if she wanted, she would ... but Bilbo said she had been hurt. Maybe it is like with him and Johin, that she always thinks of some former lover when the hobbit tries to touch her ... but who could have carried on an affair with a princess from the direct line of Durin? 

Maybe his feelings are more like what Bilbo has with Bofur. They are obviously happy, obviously care about each other, and there is nothing of the ... awkwardness, the cloud he thinks he can see hanging over Thorin. 

His relationship with Legolas is happy and carefree. 

 

Thorin teaches him how to play the harp, even making an effort to be patient with him. Not that she succeeds, not all the time, but he notices that she tries. 

His hands are clumsy, and he is close to giving up a couple of times. Maybe it is just something females can do better ... but then he remembers the male harpist in Rivendell, and how happy Legolas always looks when he listens to music. 

Giving up is not an option. 

There are other things he has to learn. Now that Thorin trusts him more, he is expected to clean and cook, too. 

Bilbo offers to teach him both, and so he spends a lot of time with the hobbit. 

He soon learns why his mother considers it obvious that Bilbo is head over heels in love with Thorin. When the hobbit teaches him cooking, it is “Thorin prefers this”, here, and “Thorin likes it that way”, there. One could think that is because Thorin is King, but Gimli very well knows that she only ever insists on the title when talking to him. Never with Bilbo, or anyone else. 

There is also the fond smile on Bilbo’s face whenever he cleans Thorin’s home. Which seems strange to Gimli in the first place, but, as Bilbo explains, Thorin has more important and kingly things to do than cleaning. (And Bilbo is better at it, anyway)

What exactly Thorin does all day, Gimli has only a very fuzzy idea of. She seems to do a lot of reading and writing, and maybe she writes letters, but of course he is not allowed in her workplace, and she doesn’t tell him, either. 

Bilbo knows, but insists he’s not allowed to tell. 

Spending so much time with the two, Gimli notices things. Such as Thorin caressing her braids much like Legolas does ... with the new knowledge that Bilbo braids her hair, that is interesting. 

Slowly, he makes progress with the harp. Not that he is nearly as good at Thorin, but it doesn’t sound unpleasant anymore. 

He is just practising under Thorin’s watchful eye when Ori enters the room, out of breath. “There’s an elf”, she says between gasping for air. “One single rider, approaching fast.”

“Is he fair-haired?” Gimli asks. A visit from Legolas would be most welcome! 

She shakes her head. “Dark hair.”

Thorin nods at him. “Go and ask him what he wants. I will send Bilbo as soon as I find him, but there is a decent chance that it’s for you.”

She doesn’t have to tell him twice. Gimli gets up and runs to the door they use for most everyday ways. It can only be opened from inside and is barely visible from the outside – not that it would help to know where it is. 

When he arrives at the main gates, the rider has already dismounted and is drying the horse with a towel. 

“Well met”, Gimli greets. “What news do you bring?”

“Bad tidings”, she replies. “Prince Legolas has been bitten by spiders.”

Gimli feels a cold hand grasp for his heart. He has not felt as bad since his mother vanished. Like it did back then, his mind supplies all kinds of horrible fantasies. This time not of what could have happened, but of how bad it might be. 

“Is he alive?”

“He was when I left. He is delirious, though, and there is no telling whether he will make it. My errand is to summon you to his side immediately.”

“Will we be there in time?”

“There is no telling that, Prince Gimli, we can but hope.”

Gimli considers riding off with her without telling anyone, but that moment, Bilbo Baggins appears round the corner. 

“Bad news?”

“Very bad news. I’m leaving immediately. Legolas needs me.”

He has to ride again, sitting behind the elf, clinging to her for dear life. Gimli hardly notices. All he can think of is Legolas. Leave him alone for a couple of weeks and something like that happens – was it fate? Is there some higher power that begrudges him his happiness? Maybe it is his fault for not valuing Legolas enough, so now he is taken away ... no, that is nonsense, he is not the centre of Arda, and Thranduil does not deserve to have his son taken from him. 

Still, same as when his mother left, he cannot help but feel it is his fault in some mysterious way. It turned out that his mother leaving was his father’s fault in a very tangible way, but with Legolas ... 

Soon enough, the ride is over, and he boards a ship, large enough to have space for the horse. 

“Row!”, the elf pleads while she again dries the poor horse with a towel. Gimli does his best to move the ship forward. 

When she has dried the horse, the elf stands up and sets to work on the sails. Soon, they fly over the lake, and Gimli doubts the necessity of rowing. 

That is before the elf joins him. Her strokes are much more forceful than his, and it seems she rows the ship forward faster than the wind can carry it. 

When they reach the river she has to row against the current, and it is only then that Gimli feels his efforts make any difference.

They are not far into the woods when an elven guard appears and beckons them closer. He leads two horses, and his meaning is clear even before he speaks. “Leave! I shall take care of your horse! Make haste!”

Gimli needs some help in climbing the horse, and is very glad he had to ride on his own before, when the horse starts to move. This is not the relatively gentle pace of Legolas’ steed, though. It throws him up and down and up and down, and it is all he can do to not fall out of the saddle. 

When they arrive at the castle, the gates are open already, and Gimli almost forgets to get off the horse. He does remember, if only because the horse stops, so abruptly he almost falls. An elf is quickly at his side to help him down. “Legolas is in his chambers.”


	30. Chapter 30

He runs as he has never run before, and is almost ready to collapse on the floor when he arrives in Legolas’ bedroom. 

Thranduil is next to the bed, a shadow of his former beauty, the eyes red from crying, the hair tangled. 

And on the bed ... Legolas. He seems to sleep peacefully, but Gimli knows that is not the case. Legolas’ sleep is always light, even when he feels safe enough to actually close his eyes. Never would he stay asleep while his father cries beside his bed. 

Without hesitation, Gimli takes Legolas’ left hand, the right being occupied by Thranduil. 

“Don’t you dare die on me”, he sobs. “Don’t you dare!”

As he touches the pale hand with his lips, he wonders how he could ever doubt his love for Legolas. His metaphor was true, Legolas is like the sun to him. Not seeing the sun at night is no hardship ... but if there were no sun anymore ...

Legolas’ eyes flutter open, and Gimli feels a jolt of joy. 

That is before he notices Thranduil’s unchanged, sad countenance. 

“No!”, Legolas cries out. “You will not hurt him again! No ... Gimli, do not believe him, he lies ... please ...”

“That is how he is most of the time”, Thranduil says quietly. “Either that, or he relives the death of ... my wife, his mother.”

Gimli gently places a hand on Legolas’ forehead. “I am here”, he murmurs. “I am here, Legolas. I am safe. Come back to me.”

It calms Legolas down a bit, but maybe that is just coincidence. After a short time of peaceful unconsciousness, Legolas opens his eyes again, and starts to rave in his mothertongue. 

Now it becomes apparent why Thranduil’s eyes are so red. Whatever Legolas says, it reminds him of his own grief, and his tears flow endlessly, and his hands fall from Legolas’ hand like wilting leaves off a tree. 

Wordlessly, Gimli takes Thranduil’s trembling hand and places it on Legolas’ hair. The elf looks at him with mild surprise, but then starts to pet his son’s hair, whispering soothing words in elvish tongue. 

Eventually, Legolas calms down. 

It does not last long. 

“No! You cannot do that! He is mine! Mine!”

Gimli’s stomach clenches. Legolas was never that ... possessive ...

“I can prove it! Look at your stupid brand mark! There, I have a contract! He is mine! You cannot kill him, I do not allow it!”

“Oh Legolas.” Again he extends a hand to caress his love’s hair. “I am here. I am safe.

Maybe it is just the sound of his voice, but Legolas does calm down rather quickly this time. 

“How come he is so affected? My mother told me she got bitten, too, and ...”

Thranduil nods without the usual grace. “The guard who was on patrol with him returned bleeding from several wounds and slowed down by spider poison. A group of guards went to fetch him immediately, but by the time they found him, he had already been bitten more than once, how often I do not know.”

“Does this ... does this happen often?”

“I thought it was over ... thought it was enough to only let the guards go in groups of two. The one who went with Legolas is rather young, an elf from Lothlorien who was eager to help. My son protected him as best he could ...”

“Will he be punished?”He feels a desperate need to blame someone, and though deep in his heart he knows it is wrong, he still feels a desire to punish the young elf. 

Thranduil raises his eyebrows, then shakes his head. “It is not his fault he is not as good a fighter. He correctly assumed that he would not be able to do anything but die in a vain attempt to rescue Legolas, so he returned for reinforcement.”

Gimli nods. Thranduil is a better king than he would be. “Is there ...” He swallows the lump that formed in his throat. “Is there any improvement noticeable?”

“He seems to be calmer since you arrived, and his heartbeat might be a bit stronger than it was immediately after ...” Thranduil sighs. “Maybe it is just my imagination.”

Legolas does not stay calm for long, and Gimli sits at his bedside until he collapses with exhaustion. When he wakes up, he is lying next to Legolas, and for one moment, he smiles, before he remembers what happened. 

Thranduil is still there, seeming to not have moved at all. “I ... I need the privy”, Gimli admits, and the elf just nods. 

It feels awful to be distracted by such base needs, but there is no helping that. When he returns, a tray of food is placed on the nightstand. “Drink and eat”, Thranduil commands. “You will be of no use to him if you die.”

“You did not ...”

“I did drink some mead and water when you were asleep, and I will not need more nourishment in a while. You are mortal. Eat.”

Legolas’ phases of ‘sleep’ get longer as the second day passes, and Gimli can just hope that is a good sign. The healer who checks in on Legolas every couple of hours says that Legolas has improved a little, but she also warns them to not celebrate yet. “I have never seen such a serious case”, she explains in singsang Westron. “There is nothing I can say for sure.”

Thranduil thanks her, and Gimli starts to wonder how the elf does it, keeping his nerves together enough to not yell at the healer. Mahal knows Gimli would do it, if he were in charge and could afford to do so. He feels so frustrated he just wants to yell at someone. Anyone. 

But he does not. Instead, he gently reassures Legolas that he is there with him, and when he grows tired again, he lies down next to Legolas.


	31. Chapter 31

When he wakes again, something has changed. Legolas’ arms are around him, so tight it nearly hurts, the eyes open, a smile on his face. He murmurs something under his breath. 

Thranduil is still in the room, but when Gimli meets his gaze, he notices the elf is ... asleep, in the half-wakeful way Legolas usually sleeps in the wilderness. 

Curling up in Legolas’ embrace, Gimli falls asleep once again. When he wakes up again, Legolas’ arms are limp with sleep, and his eyes are closed. Thranduil is fast asleep on Legolas’ other side, eyes closed. 

Gimli gets up and tiptoes out of the room. When he gets back from the privy, someone has brought food and drink, and this time, he eats with better appetite. 

It is a curious sight he gets to enjoy. Legolas’ golden hair is tangled with his father’s paler strands, and the older elf looks actually a lot more like Legolas when asleep. All that makes his face seem stern and forbidding when awake is gone, leaving only the delicate features he shares with his son. Some things are still different; Legolas’ lips are fuller, for example, something he has his mother to thank for, no doubt. 

 

Legolas’ eyes flutter open. He gazes at his father. “Ada”, he mumbles happily. Then turns his head. “Nana?”

His smile wilts, but then blooms anew. “You are here!”

“I said I would return, didn’t I?”

“You traveled to Erebor ... ?”

“Returned immediately when I heard about it”, Gimli murmurs. “Of course.”

“Oh! I am so glad you did!” Legolas raises a hand and cups Gimli’s cheek. “It must have been a long time. Your beard is growing back ... how long was I unconscious?”

“A couple of days, I should think. Lost any sense of time myself. Um. I think we should call that healer? Let her known you are well? And maybe someone should take care of your father?”

“Indeed. Would you?” Legolas gestures towards a bellstring that is no doubt connected to some servant’s room.

Gimli pulls it, then returns to Legolas’ side. “Is your father alright? He was sitting next to you all this time ... hardly ever drank anything.Ate nothing.”

“He was the same when he mourned my mother”, Legolas says softly. “I trust he will be alright when his body has taken the rest he denied it.”

“Ah.” Gimli nods. “Makes sense. He seems to have laid down as soon as you were on the way of recovery.”

The healer enters, Captain Tauriel and some other elf trailing behind her. 

When the healer has examined Thranduil, she turns to Legolas, removes the blanket that covers him, and the bandages around his upper body. For the first time, Gimli sees the spider bites.   
Turns out, some things can even spoil Legolas’ beauty. The purplish outlines of the spider bites are ugly marks on the milkwhite skin. 

The healer talks in elvish, and Gimli can only guess she is satisfied with the progress of healing she can determine, as she nods at Tauriel and tells her something. 

Promptly, the Captain shoves her hands under Thranduil’s unconscious body, and carries him in her arms like a babe. 

Gimli watches the procession in astonishment. 

When Legolas has asked the third elf, apparently a servant, to bring them food, Gimli dares to say “I thought Captain Tauriel was a woman?”

“Oh, she is.” Legolas smiles. “You are surprised by her strength. She is a maiden who has not born any children, therefore, her strength is undiminished.”

“But ... but ... where does she carry your father?”

“Why, to his bed, of course. He will need a lot of sleep.”

“What will people think?” Back home, this would be impossible. “I mean, if she is alone with him in his bedroom ...”

Legolas frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Will ... will people not suspect there is an ... illicit affair? Of course there isn’t! But ...”

To his relief, Legolas just laughs. “My father is married, obviously. You forget that for us, marriage is not just an oath to be honoured, it is a state we live in. I cannot say it would be impossible for him to desire another, but ... it is very, very unlikely. Only one elf in the history of the world ever married again after the death of his wife, and no good came from it.”

“Oh ... of course. I forgot.” It still confuses him. If two unmarried elves ... but then, if sex equals marriage, it would be impossible for them to have anything untoward going on, too. 

“And Captain Tauriel is one of his most trusted advisors, so if you had fears she might force herself on him, there is no need for that, either.”

“I would never imply ... Do elves even do that?”

Legolas smiles. “There are old tales, very old tales, wherein one can read of such things when one knows the ways of Men, and therefore is suspicious ... but if elves indeed do such horrid things, it is but rarely. Though maybe this is not due to our superiority of character, and more due to the fact that it is simply not possible.”

“Not possible?”

Legolas lets his hand wander to Gimli’s hand and squeezes it. “My body may seem solid to you, but my spirit is as strong, if not stronger. If my spirit would not want to stay here, my body would follow; I would die.”

“Then I hope you never get seasick.”

Legolas laughs. “No worries, my dear Gimli, no worries. Such superficial wishes for death are not what I talked about, as they are of the body, not of the spirit. Only truly horrible things, such as we were talking about, would cause my spirit to leave this world.”

“So when you said your father only lives for you and his realm ...”

“This was what I meant, indeed. After mother’s death, the healers feared he would die, too, and leave me an orphan with the burden of the crown on my head. I am very grateful he decided to stay.”

Gimli ponders the implications. “So, if you had been in my place back then ... sold as slave, with a lover who doesn’t even look at you ...”

“I might have died. But then, maybe not. Unrequited love is something that can happen to elves, but in such cases, a soulbond never forms ... I am not sure how it would have affected me.”

“Truth be told, maybe I would just have surrendered to the murderers back then if you had not called my name.”

Legolas smiles. “Just because I called your name?”

“You ... you pronounce it the same way my mother does, you know? I thought it was her, at first. She was the reason I ... I wanted to live. Trying to find her.”

“Oh! I am sorry – I should have told you immediately. I just ...”

“I know.” Gimli places his free hand on Legolas’ shoulder. “You cannot really talk about things that make you sad, right? It’s inconvenient, but I suppose that’s just the way you are.” And he likes Legolas just as he is. 

 

After eating something, Legolas wants a bath, and this time, Gimli insists on joining him.Legolas has not regained his full strength, after all, and besides ... he has some suspicions why his husband has been avoiding him. 

In the bathroom, Legolas sheds the light linen robe he had donned before, and stands there, naked. 

Gimli has already seen all this, but the beauty stuns him once again. “Those wounds ...”

“The water will bite, though not worse than the spiders.” Legolas laughs and slips into the water, his arms placed on the edge of the pool. 

“Still ...” Gimli quickly gets rid of his own clothes – he smells his own stink after spending days in the same clothes. 

He stands in the shallow area of the pool and watches Legolas’ back. The bruises around the bites don’t seem to worsen in the water, at least. Though they seem to have turned another shade in the meantime. 

After washing himself quickly, he dares to ask: “Do you want me to wash your hair?” Not that it needs washing, but since it is now wet, anyway ...

“Oh, please!” Legolas moves towards the shallow end of the pool to sit down, and Gimli takes the flask with the strange, herbal stuff the elves use for their hair. 

He has never before washed Legolas’ hair, and it is pure joy to run his hands through the golden strands. Even wet they are still silky. 

Legolas sighs, and when Gimli stills, rubs against his hands. “Continue.”

It happens just after Legolas has climbed out of the pool. He sinks to his knees. “I ... feel dizzy ...” Legolas seems surprised, as if he was never ill ... probably he never was. 

Gimli hastily pulls himself out of the pool. “Stay there. Right here, away from the pool.” He reaches for a towel and spreads it on the floor. “Lie down if you feel you need to – I’ll fetch the healer.”

“No! Do not leave me alone, please!”

Of course ... he forgot about the nightmares. He sits down next to Legolas, places an arm around his slender shoulders. “Alright, I stay.” The thought of what Legolas told him about elves’ spirits makes him shiver. Maybe Legolas only woke up because he had Thranduil and Gimli close? Maybe he would have chosen to join his mother in death if not for them? 

Legolas leans on him more than Gimli would like – not that he minds the weight, but it is disconcerting that Legolas needs the support. 

“Are you feeling better yet? Because if not, maybe we should wrap you in a bathrobe and I should carry you to your room.”

“Sounds nice.” Legolas rests his head on Gimli’s shoulder. He looks so tired, almost as bad as when he was suffering from blood loss. 

“I was joking, actually. Though if you want me to ...” He has carried Legolas before. Though the beautiful golden hair would drag on the floor. And he could step on it. “I should braid your hair first.”

Legolas makes a noise of agreement and raises his head. Gimli doesn’t take the time to do something fancy, or even tidy. He just gathers the hair together in a loose braid, then wraps that braid around Legolas’ neck. “I will fetch a bathrobe.” He nods towards the other end of the room, where clean bathrobes are kept. “Not going anywhere.”

He hurries to fetch both a bathrobe and the clean clothes he brought for himself. Getting Legolas into the robe is not easy, as lifting his arms seems to exhaust him. Gimli quickly dons his own clothes, just trousers and shirt. 

“Carry me on your shoulders”, Legolas suggests when Gimli makes a motion to lift him. 

“Do you think I’m not strong enough to carry you in my arms?” It cannot be uncomfortable, not when Captain Tauriel did it with her king. 

“No, just ... why exert yourself?”

Ah. So that is Legolas’ concern. “Because it looks more dignified.” He has to spread his arms wide so that Legolas’ head doesn’t drag on the floor, but it is worth the effort, and he is strong. 

After the staircase, he does feel the weight in his arms, but now it pays off that Gamli wanted him to use a battleaxe. Under the curious glances of passing elves, he carries Legolas to his bedroom and helps him lie down on the bed. The servant who has just finished changing the sheets smiles at them. “My lord Legolas, are you better?”

“I am. Though I do feel dizzy – send me Eilian, will you?”


	32. Elves and their customs

“Of course, my lord.” The servant bows and leaves. 

“Eilian?”

“The healer. I take it she did not introduce herself? She is a bit shy around strangers, and her Westron is not that good.”

“Not that ... she has an accent?” 

“Yes, why?”

Gimli chuckles. “I thought her way of talking had something elvish about it, but it does sound quite pleasant.”

“You are probably the only living dwarf who would call something elvish and pleasant at the same time.”

“Maybe. You, too, are very elvish. And very pleasing to look at.”

“You think so?” Legolas sounds ... pleased. Maybe this is something that can be done to speed his healing. With all his talk about spirits influencing elven bodies much more than it would be the case for mortals ..

“Aye. You are so fair of face that even that shoddy circlet I made looks beautiful on you.”

Legolas smiles. “It would look beautiful on an orc.”

“Nonsense. You are just saying that because you like me.” And he does not mind at all. 

“It is true, nevertheless.”

They are interrupted by a soft knock at the door. When Legolas calls something in elvish, the door is opened and the healer enters. 

“You need not feel self-conscious about your Westron”, Legolas says gently. “It is a foreign language for Gimli, too. I would ask you to use it in his presence.”

Her eyes flicker over to him, she nods. “You are dizzy?”

“I was, after taking a bath. It got better when I laid down again. 

“You used the hot springs?” She reaches for Legolas’ arm and feels his pulse. 

“Indeed.”

“No hot baths in the next days”, she advises, then adds something in elvish. 

“I am sorry for not asking your advice earlier”, Legolas replies. “Though you need not worry, my husband insisted on bathing with me for that very reason. I was in no danger of drowning.”

She gives Gimli a short nod, less graceful than those of Legolas, but still very ... elvish. 

“I shall see you again tonight.” She turns and leaves. 

Legolas smiles. “She likes you.”

“Does she?”

“She scolded me for not asking her whether I could bathe. Your insistence on keeping an eye on me should have earned you some gratitude. I hope you do not mind being referred to as my husband?”

“No – actually ... Legolas, do you love me?” He has to be sure, first. 

Legolas blushes. Not in the obvious way that Dandelion used to, but more dignified. His milkwhite skin turns a very pale shade of pink. “I do”, he replies, almost too quiet for Gimli to understand. 

“I ...” He swallows. “I love you too.” 

The effect is immediate. Legolas sits up, stuffing a cushion under his back with his own hands. “You mean ...?”

Gimli sits on the edge of the bed and takes one of Legolas’ hands in his. “I was not sure. Still am not sure what exactly I feel ... just that losing you would be too dreadful to even think of.” He bites his lip. “It is ... so different from what I felt for Johin, that is what makes me wonder ... I am very sure I love you as a friend.”

Legolas smiles. 

“And I want to ... act like your husband in every sense, except ...” He can not bring himself to say it. Not that it is necessary. Legolas wouldn’t want to be soul-bound to him, so it is not really relevant. 

“Of course. Stay with me while I rest?”

“Gladly.”

Legolas’ sleep is deep, but he wakes up soon. “I feel much better. Let us see how father is?”

When Legolas gets out of bed, Gimli is reminded that he was not wearing any clothes, except the bathrobe, which he shed before going to sleep. Once again, he is stunned by so much beauty. “Sit down and let me help you with the robes?”

The robes the elves wear when they expect no fight are easy to don. Gimli puts them on Legolas’ upper body, and the fabric just falls down when Legolas stands up. 

“Use my shoulder for support. Just in case.”

His husband. The thought makes him proud. 

 

At least the elf who sits at Thranduil’s beside seems to be male. Gimli realizes the irrationality of his thoughts – why should he, of all people, think there’s more chance of anything untowards happening with a female elf? 

They silently sit down on the other side of the bed. Evening comes, servants bring food, but nothing happens. 

Only when the moon is high above the trees and shines into the bedroom window does Thranduil stir. “Legolas?”

“Im sî, ada.” Legolas smiles. “I am here, father.”

A rare smile flickers across Thranduil’s face. “Have I thanked you, Gimli, son of Glóin, properly for being here so fast?”

“No need for that. Legolas is the sun of my life.”

Legolas gently squeezes his hand at that. 

Thranduil sits up in his bed. “Does that even mean much to a dwarf?”, he asks, but for once, the amusement is plain on his face. 

“A great deal. Without the sun, we would have no wood for our forges.” Bilbo explained to him how plants need sunlight, and a hobbit would know. “And contrary to what you may have heard, I do like some sunshine on my face, occasionally.”

The elf laughs. “Well said.”

Thranduil recovers fast, and when Legolas and Gimli go to bed, he is on his throne, receiving guard’s reports. 

 

Now that they have the time, Gimli properly combs Legolas’ hair. 

“I must ask”, Legolas says quietly. “How much touching do you feel comfortable with?”

“Everything. Except, you know.” He gently distangles a strand of hair that he had not properly taken care of earlier. 

“When we lie in bed together ... would you mind feeling that I am aroused?”

He bites his lip. The thought that Legolas might find him attractive never once crossed his mind. “No ... I would not mind.” Not with Legolas, who will never want more. Can never want more. 

That night, Legolas pulls him close again, his body curling around Gimli’s. So that was why ... and he feared Legolas didn’t like him anymore. How silly. 

The following days are peaceful and calm. Gimli has only one problem do deal with, and that is his growing attraction to Legolas. He doesn’t really feel like lovemaking, but the thought that his husband desires him ... is a nice one. One that requires him to have a couple of moments to himself every day. 

An opportunity has just arisen, Legolas being in the throne room to help his father with some government issues, when there’s a knock at the door. 

“Come in.”

To his surprise, it is Captain Tauriel. 

“Is there something wrong with ...?”

She shakes her head. “No, nothing at all. I just wondered ...” She holds up a hairbrush. “Would you braid my hair?”

He stares at her in disbelief. “I am not particularly good at that ...”

“Legolas looks nice enough.” 

That is because Legolas still looks nice after fighting assassins, spending days in unconscious state, with no washing at all. He’s Legolas. 

But then, Tauriel is also an elf. And Legolas said they ask friends to do their hair, so maybe ... she is just being nice?

“I can try.”

Tauriel sits down on the floor, the lowest chair still being a little bit too high for easy access. Gimli feels a bit awkward brushing her hair – he never did that for anyone not related or Legolas, and it feels weird. Too much intimacy. 

“Your speed in arriving has not gone unnoticed”, Tauriel remarks. “Before this happened, many were under the impression that you had only acknowledged the marriage because it seemed diplomatically useful.”

He parts the hair at her left temple in three strands and starts braiding. Acknowledged? Why ... of course, his consent was not really needed. “And no such suspicions were uttered regarding your prince, I take it?”

“Of course not – Legolas could not deny it even if he wanted to.”

That made some sense, Legolas could not deny his father, the king. “It seems a bit cruel of King Thranduil, if I may say so ... no offense meant. Legolas was so upset ...”

“It was cruel, indeed. And there were many who feared for Legolas’ life that day, thought that you would reject him ... King Thranduil knew better. His decision proved to be wise, even though it was cruel.”

“Well, I have to say, I might not have liked citing his ownership of me as argument for the lawfulness of our marriage, but I would have had to be rather stupid to reject him and make your king look like a liar in front of Dain, just when things were going so smoothly.”

“You would, but we have met lots of dwarves who would have been too proud to even consider it. I admit, I was shocked, too, when Legolas returned from Erebor and was married, but ... you are good for him.”

“Wait – when exactly do you mean?” The marriage had been public, and hadn’t Tauriel been there?

“Before the King decided to tell Dain. There were many who thought you would take advantage of Legolas’ feelings and break his heart ...”

“I could never do that!”

“We know that now.” Tauriel tilts her head as he finishes off the braid. “He is the sun of your life.”

Gimli almost drops the braid without tying the end. “What? Who told you?!”

She chuckles. “If you want servants not to gossip, you should ask for a private audience with the King. As you have not ...”

“Mahal! Does that mean ...” 

Tauriel turns around and apparently notices his blush, as she smiles. “No need to be ashamed. Many elves will now reconsider their opinion on dwarves.”

“Think us even more stupid than before?” he grumbles. 

Her laugh is tinkling, a bit higher in tune than Legolas’. “No. In fact, we thought dwarves to be as devoid of feelings as the stone you are made of. Apparently, this is not true. Most think it a very sweet thing to say ... and the others believe you a liar.”

“If I wanted to lie, I certainly wouldn’t say something as sappy as that.” His father would scold ... yes, Gamli would loathe him for what he had said about Legolas. Which, actually, is an added benefit. 

Tauriel stands up. “Your own kind may not appreciate poetry, but we elves are very fond of it, as long as the truth is spoken.” She smiles. “I am on duty now. Thank you very much for helping with my hair.”

“You are welcome”, he answers automatically.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, be warned, there is a sex scene in this chapter. And discussion of abusive behaviour / coercion.

All this is so very confusing. When Tauriel has left, Gimli thinks back to the start of their conversation, re-examining everything said. .

Legolas announced that they were married when he returned from his first visit at Erebor. Which means that ... Legolas would never be presumptuous. That is not who he is. There is no way he would talk of marriage if there was none ... but elvish marriage is different, so ... did their souls bond? Did Legolas ... no, certainly he did nothing to Gimli while he was asleep. He did talk of anything intimate causing the bond ... Maybe it was the bathing together ... that might have done it ...   
Or the sleeping together. 

He feels his muscles tense when Legolas pulls him close the following night. Of course he trusts Legolas, he really does, but ... eventually, Legolas will want more. 

It is not until a couple of days later, after Gimli has timed his bath just so that he would not share the pool with Legolas, that his husband mentions it. “You have been acting different ever since Tauriel asked you to braid her hair”, he says at they get ready for bed. 

Gimli makes a noise that could be interpreted as a yes or no. 

“Is it because dwarves only do that for their spouses? Do you feel bad about it?”

“No, not at all.” It was weird at first, but not invasive in the way it might be if she had asked to touch his hair. 

“Then I am glad, for I know she just wanted to show that she accepts you. Still, you have been different ever since. The same you were ... at first. You flinch at my touch. Has something reminded you of your faithless love?”

He really doesn’t want to lie to Legolas. Not when the elves are already accusing him of that. “I just ... Tauriel told me you came back from Erebor, married, and ... that means ...”

Legolas sighs. “Indeed. I never wanted you to know. When a bond forms between two elves, it can be assumed both their spirits desired it. I cannot know what your spirit desires, and it would be presumptuous to claim that I do.”

“Why did you tell them?” This is what confuses him. “If you needed to confide in someone, you could have sworn them to secrecy ...” He is sure there is a good explanation as to why Legolas made it known to the whole court. Maye some elvish law. Still, he needs to know – it is a bit upsetting, to be the last person to learn that Legolas and he are married. 

“I did ask Tauriel not to tell you, but I suppose she thought there was no need to keep it from you when the marriage was made official.” Legolas sighs. “I should have been clearer, maybe, and yet ... it did not feel right to keep it from you, even then.”

“Thing is, the whole court seems to know.” Or they couldn’t have worried about Legolas’ wellbeing, back then. 

“Of course, they all saw ... I forgot, you can not know that. It is obvious to any elf that I am married. Not to whom, but that was easy enough to guess.” 

“Obvious to any ...” He knew well enough for female virginity was proven, but in a male ... and Legolas would hardly expose his intimate body parts, so ... “How?”

“It is hard to explain. There is something about a married elf ... maybe a kind of serenity, that makes it obvious they are bonded, that their soul is linked to another.” 

“Weird. So ... when did you plan on telling me?”

“I wanted to shelter you from the burden of that knowledge as long as possible. Yet ... I did hope you would grow to love me, and eventually ask whether a bond can be formed with intent.”

“I would never have asked ... “

“That, I feared.” Legolas looks like a wilted flower. 

“No! I mean ...” He clears his throat. “I am alright with being bound to you for all my life ... it is just, your life is a lot longer, and I don’t want you to be lonely, and ...”

“Oh. That was what father said, also ... please, do not mourn what could have been. I am happy the way it is.” Legolas smiles again, and Gimli cannot help but do the same. “Then, why do you flinch at my touch?”

“Now that we are bonded ... well. You have needs, and I am the only one ...” And Johin had always called him cruel when he had refused anything. 

Legolas sighs. “My needs were fulfilled before. It is only now that you shy away from me ... you have needs, too, what about them?”

“My ... needs ... well.” Gimli swallows the lump that has formed in his throat. “I can ... sort of ... take care of that myself.” He waves his hand uncertainly. “You know.” Or maybe he doesn’t. 

“Oh.” Legolas smiles. “That. I have hands, too, you know?”

“Yes, but ...” Johin never took himself in hand ... or at least that was what he said. His One was responsible for taking care of his needs ... he claimed. 

Legolas’ hands hover over his shoulders, and gently touch when he doesn’t flinch away. “Our spirits are bonded now. Your pain is mine. I have nothing to gain from harming you, beloved.” And then he touches his forehead to Gimli’s. 

It is so intense that Gimli shivers. Almost scary, but he cannot draw his gaze away from Legolas’ blue eyes. 

Legolas seems to notice, as he breaks eye contact and allows Gimli to rest his head at his shoulder. “I would never harm you.”

“I know.” And he knows, he really does. “It just ... feels as if I’m neglecting you, and ...”

“Your pain is mine, and your pleasure is mine, also.” Legolas caresses his back. “What would make you feel better? Where are your limits? You held me back then, in the river ... would that feel bad now that we are married?”

Would it? “I would like to do that.” 

Without another word, Legolas strips off his last undergarment and kneels on the bed. Now that he is not crying, though, it feels different. This time, feeling warm skin under his fingers is ... tempting, though he knows not what it is that he feels tempted to do. 

“Legolas ...”, he breathes, unsure how to continue. 

“Your hands feel so good ...” Legolas’ eyes are closed now, and his lips are slightly parted. 

So he just keep caressing the delicate skin. Legolas shivers and moans under his touch, but still asks him to continue, so he does. It feels good. Maybe ... “Lie down, please.”

Legolas does so, and only then can Gimli see the effect of his touches. It doesn’t scare him, as he is focused on what he wants to do: Run a thumb over Legolas’ rosy nipples. 

He only gets to touch one. Legolas arches his back and digs his fingernails in the bedsheet as he climaxes. 

After some staring, he finds his words again. “Are you alright? Is this normal?”

Legolas does not answer immediately, but smiles so beautifully that the question is answered. “Rather normal, I should think. Why?”

Gimli lies down next to him. His own arousal can wait. “I, um, didn’t even touch your naughty bits.”

“Ah. We are freshly bonded. It is quite normal for me to be rather ... responsive.” Legolas licks his lips. “And your hands are so deliciously rough ...”

“If that is all you need ... I could live with that.” He goes to fetch a wet cloth from the washbasin in the corner. “May I?”

“Of course.” Legolas’ reactions to being cleaned make his pants too tight again. 

“Would you mind if I, that is ... take care of myself, so to speak?”

Naturally, Legolas does not mind, and is toughtful enough to turn his back to give him some privacy ... even though Gimli is not sure whether he would prefer being watched. 

“May I ask something?” Legolas asks when he is finished. 

“You are already”, Gimli teases. “Of course you can.”

“Why do you call it ‘naughty bits’?”

He honestly never thought about it. “I suppose it is because you don’t mention them in polite conversation? How do you call it?”

“My ‘sex’ if the discussion is medical, ‘twig and berries’ when I feel more like jesting.” Legolas smiles. “Oh, and there is ‘orchid bulb’ ... a lot of words, actually.”

“I would usually call it ‘member’ if I were to talk to a healer ... and there is a lot of other words not fit to be repeated in front of your innocent pointy ears.”

Legolas laughs. “By the size of it, I suppose it makes sense to call it a limb.”

“So ...” He clears his throat. “Yours is the average size for elves, then? I admit I wondered ...”

“I never compared, but yes, I suppose it is average. When I saw you naked for the first time, I understood why you dislike riding ... is it not very uncomfortable to wear trousers, even?”

“Not normally, no.” 

“But ...?”

“It does get uncomfortable when I’m close to you, if you catch my drift.”

Legolas laughs. “I am flattered. You do not really have a twig and berries ... I should think, yours is more of an oaktree.”

“An oaktree?” He always thought himself below average ... Johin’s was much bigger .. 

“We do call the bit on top ‘acorn’ so ...”

“I see.” Of course elves would have tree-related euphemisms. “What do you call women’s parts?”

“The outer parts are called petals, then there’s the sprig, and inside that there’s the beechnut ... you always have to find the beechnut, that’s important.” Legolas smiles, completely relaxed, and it is so different from the conversations about sex Gimli is used to, the raucous, alcohol-fueled jokes his father used to crack when drinking with his friends. 

“More poetic elves like to call the whole thing blossom. It is rumoured to be very beautiful.” 

“You ... you talk about that in polite conversation?”

“Not very often, but it can come up. Of course, when I came of age, father gave me a book on the topic ...”

“King Thranduil gave you a ...” That is impossible. He cannot imagine ... oh, Thranduil is an affectionate father, alright, but he is not the kind to give his son lewd pictures of female elves ...

“Do you want to see it?”

“ ... yes?” He isn’t sure he wants to, but he also knows that he would never be able to get it out of his head if he didn’t see it.


	34. Chapter 34

Legolas fetches the book from one of the bookshelves in his room. It looks like all the other books, bound in green linen with silver edges. “There.”

Gimli realizes his mistake when Legolas turns the first few pages. There are no illustrations, just the curly elvish script. 

“There it is.” Legolas turns another page, and there is a picture of what is probably meant to be a male elf without clothes on, but it looks ... weird. “You don’t look like that.”

Legolas laughs. “No. It shows the inner organs.” 

Now that makes a lot more sense. “I thought it was a naughty book ... that looks more like a medical one.”

“That is because you cannot read the tengwar. It has detailed advice on how to pleasure a male, I think you would consider that 'naughty' ... here, this is called ‘walnut’, and it is completely inside the body, but you can feel it, and touching it is very pleasant.”

“Oh.” That must be what felt so nice when Johin claimed him. 

“Of course, when I had just come of age I thought I knew everything about my own body, and it was more likely I would marry a maiden, so I was more interested in this one there ...” Legolas turns another couple of pages. “There is a lot of advice on how to give pleasure, how to make the petals wet with dew, so to speak ... of course there is medical advice in there, too, but for that, there are other books.”

Gimli is still stunned. “I never ... you said elves only ever do this with their spouse, so ...”

“We only do it with our spouses, but it is perfectly acceptable to talk about with friends, or healers, if the need arises. Though it would have felt ... awkward to ask my father how to pleasure a spouse. It is easier with books. So ... dwarves are more reserved about that?”

“I would not say that. My mother would never have talked about such a thing ...” Or maye she would? There seems to be a lot of things he didn’t know about her. She was rather open about what she had heard about Johin. “My father, though, when he got drunk with his friends ... but they talked more of pounding and ploughing and cleaving. Those were their metaphors.”

A shadow falls on Legolas' fair face. “That sounds painful.”

Gimli nods. Maybe ... just maybe that was why it was so painful with Johin? But Johin was as gentle as he could, at least in the beginning, when he was in no hurry ... there is no way an elf could be gentler ... or is there?

“Maybe tomorrow we can talk about how you want to be touched?” Legolas asks. 

“I would like that.”

This time, he doesn’t flinch when Legolas wraps his arms around him. 

 

Legolas is the one to bring up the topic again, and when Gimli had thought he had forgotten about it. They have just returned from a patrol through the forest, fighting some spiders, and Gimli’s muscles ache - the dwarven battle axe that Thranduil had lying around for some reason is a lot heavier than he would prefer. Must have belonged to someone who wanted to show off his strength. 

They are in the hot bathing pool again, and Legolas looks at him. “Would you like a back rub?”

“Um. What is that?” He thinks he has an idea, but doesn't want to agree to anything without knowing exactly what Legolas means by it. 

“You turn your back towards me, and I knead it, to make the muscles relax. I would stop at the waist.”

That sounds good. The fact that his husband sports an erection does make him a bit apprehensive, but it is bearable. 

As soon as Legolas’ fingers touch his skin, he knows he made the right decision. They are so soft and gentle, even when the pressure applied to his sore muscles almost aches. 

“When your hair grows longer ... may I braid it?” Legolas asks quietly. 

“Of course. You could also just run your hands through it ... could do that now, actually.” 

For a moment, Legolas’ grip on his shoulder tightens, then the other hand touches Gimli’s short head hair. “I love the colour ...”, he breathes. 

He sounds almost ... of course he is aroused, but ... he did say he is very responsive now, so maybe some experimenting ... “I think I will wear my beard in braids. What do you think?”

There is a barely audible gasp. “That would be lovely.”

“Legolas ... are you ... aroused by this?” He feels oddly flattered and excited. 

The hands are removed from his body. “Yes”, Legolas replies quietly. “I thought you knew?”

“Just surprised. Please continue.” The last moments before the actual sex were always the nicest. Arousal humming in his body, no pain, just pleasure. 

Legolas’ hands return and continue to gently ease the pain in his muscles. 

“I didn’t know hair was so important to elves.” Not in that way, anyway. They obviously are proud of their long, flowing hair, but this ... 

“Is it not important to everyone?” Legolas toys with his back hair. “They shaved you to make you feel even worse, is it not so?”

“Aye. Still. I never ...” Though he is one to talk, thinking of how much he loves Legolas’ golden hair. “That the thought of my hair growing back would excite you so ...”

“It is the fresh bond”, Legolas murmurs. “Everything about you is exciting. And the thought that I might run long strands of your sunset coloured hair through my fingers ...” His hands tremble as if a shiver is running through his body. 

Maybe it is the warmth of the bath, the peacefulness of it all, but he doesn’t feel apprehensive anymore. He wants to participate in what his husband experiences. “Claim me.”

“What?”

“Claim me. Take me.” Is it possible that Legolas doesn’t understand? Maybe ... “I want to ... have sex with you. Whatever you read in that book of yours ... do it.”

“Oh! But you said ...” Legolas doesn't say more, he doesn't have to. 

Gimli knows he owes an explanation, but he has none. He just wants what he wants. “That was then. I need you.”

Just to hear and feel how much Legolas wants him ... certainly, the sex with him cannot be very painful. He liked to do it with Johin, back then, so where is the problem?

“In my chambers”, Legolas breathes. 

They walk there in only bathrobes, which they drop as soon as the door is closed behind them. Gimli gets on the bed, on all fours, trembling in anticipation. 

“Would you please turn around?”

He cannot possibly resist that voice, so he does as asked, even though the fear has returned by now. 

Legolas kneels on the bed, looks at him like he is an especially beautiful sunset. “Where do you want me to touch?”

“Wherever you want.” He is trembling by now, and is not sure if it is only lust. 

“My love.” Gentle hands caress his chest, play with his nipples, and after some murmured questions, soft lips join them. 

As the hands move across his belly, his body tenses. 

Legolas hesitates, his hands still. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” He wants to make his husband happy, it is his duty now, and it does feel good ... if only his body would understand that. “Please ... keep touching me.”

“As you wish ... your oak tree is truly mighty ... may I touch?”

“Yes ...” He chuckles as he remembers what they say about elves and trees back at ho... in the Blue Mountains. 

And then Legolas touches, and thinking becomes difficult. Soft fingertips tease and play, he hears whispers of “big”, and “sturdy”, and is aroused all the more. One hand returns to his chest, gently toys with his nipples. 

“So beautiful ...” Legolas shivers, his mouth stays half open to let out a moan. 

Gimli reaches for his shoulders holds his husband while he climaxes – likely not the first time that night. 

One gentle touch is all he himself needs after that. 

“Does that ever end?”, he asks while he pulls Legolas into a tight embrace. “You being so ... excitable?”

“It is only the first ten years or so, then I should get used to it ...”

Ten years! Not that he minds, not at all. He places a kiss on Legolas’ exposed neck. “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea that elves have a different sexuality from humans. Legolas thought he would marry a maiden, not because he didn't know there was an alternative, but because it was statistically more likely and in my headcanon, elves just don't experience sexual attraction unless they are in love, so figuring out their sexual orientation would be difficult.


End file.
